


A Grimm Future

by Mastos



Series: A Grimm Future [1]
Category: RWBY, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22835488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mastos/pseuds/Mastos
Summary: Jaune Arc and Ruby Rose, a humble guardsman and the daughter of nobility. Both must find their way in the Remnant subsector of the Imperium of Man. Between Xenos, Grimm, and their own kind, the future looks long and dark. Will they find the light at the end of the tunnel?A crossover between RWBY and Warhammer 40k. RWBY Characters in the Warhammer Universe.
Series: A Grimm Future [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641607
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. A Grimm Future

**Author's Note:**

> Did you ever want RWBY but with Mechs instead of Mechashift? Have you ever wanted to see the characters of RWBY through the cracked looking glass that is the 41st Millennium? Well look no further friends, because I think I have just the thing for you. This is my proof of concept chapter, and in any other format this would be the prologue, but I'll be calling it Chapter 1 for ease of counting.

She rolled quietly in the void. In life she had been a goddess of wrath. Destruction incarnate. She had sailed the void at the head of the largest armadas in the memory of mankind, if there had been men now who remembered her. Her cannons had been the end of days, her sensors had been the eyes of the God-Emperor. In life she had been a cathedral to war. In life she had been a beacon to the righteous and a hammer of wrath. In death she was a memorial to arrogance. A reminder that the strength of men had long since waned. A grim tomb for hope and progress.

She was an immense hulk drifting through the cold dark of the void. She spun, trapped forever in the momentum of her deathblow. Her hull, three miles of the finest adamantine, was riddled with craters. Scored and pockmarked by weapons of apocalyptic fury. Her great cathedral spires were bent and dulled after three thousand years of drifting on the currents of space. Ranks of angels sat watch over the mouths of her cannon, each crumbling and featureless. Her prow, a great ram as was so common on imperial ships, was dull and blunted. Her engines, which had once roared their defiance against mankind’s decay, sat cold, her reactors frozen and dark. Along her spine was a great rift, it stretched from prow to stern, a canyon of rent metal, scorched black and torn asunder by a blow of world ending proportions. A fatal blow. As if the blade of a titan had swept down and struck her from the heavens, forever dooming her to tumble, aimless, through the clutching black.

But there! Racing along her flank was something unexpected.

Warmth.

Life.

Hope.

/-/

Qrow Branwen sped along the hull of the ancient warship. He had found it. He had _actually_ found it. This was the find of a lifetime. No. It was the find of lifetimes. Of millennia.

He banked around the pitted maw of a macrocannon and poured speed into his fighter as his heart soared. He had done it! He was certain Ozpin had sent him on another snipe hunt. Another journey full of pointless wandering and disappointing endings. But here it was. Here _she_ was. Right beneath him was something that he had spent his life hunting! Something that Ozpin had spent his life hunting, which was considerable.

Qrow pushed _Harbinger_ to even greater heights of speed and pulled away to get a good look at the wound on the old warships back. _Harbinger_ was a very special ship. She was a Scythe-class fighter, the only one of her kind. Equipped with her own Warp drive and Gellar field, something that no other ship her size had, at least as far as Qrow knew. She was perfect for extended scouting ops, which was all Qrow ever really got the chance to run these days. For a fighter she had a rather large profile, something more akin to a gunship, which made her an easy target in a dogfight, a fact that was always on the edge of Qrow’s mind. To make up for that, he had spent an extensive amount of time tinkering with her and fine tuning her strong points. One of which he brought to bear now. Speed.

He burned into the black, soaring over his find. His engines howled in victory, or they would, if he could hear them. The cockpit was silent, the only sign of his victory was the small smile he allowed himself. He couldn’t get ahead of himself, he had to rein it in. After all, he wasn’t sure yet. The warship alone was a monumental find, but he had to be certain. He had to be sure she could be saved. He had to make sure she was the right ship. And most of all he had to be sure he could make it back to Ozpin, his semblance made being a pilot extraordinarily difficult.

Qrow wasn’t technically a psyker. Psykers could draw power from the warp and accomplish things people of the past would associate with wizardry. Psykers were born or had their connection with the warp unlocked naturally at some point during the course of their life. Due to their close bond to a realm that could be best described as hellish psykers tended to have a short lifespan. Usually ending with insanity and possession if they were unlucky, or in bloody service to the Imperium if they weren’t. Qrow was an entirely different breed. A Huntsman. He was a normal man, up to a point. His soul had been unlocked by Ozpin, but it wasn’t bound to the Warp in the same way that a psyker’s was. In the same vein, he didn’t have the same unbound potential as a psyker.

What he had instead was a semblance. Every huntsman or huntress got one, and only one. Unfortunately for Qrow he had rolled poorly. He wasn’t sure if a semblance was determined randomly or if it was truly a reflection of one’s soul, but whatever it was he certainly wasn’t lucky when it manifested. Semblances were, traditionally, a boon. As if to spite him for his poor treatment of it, Qrow’s soul had given him a curse. The purest reflection of his soul was that at the worst possible moment what could go wrong for him would go wrong for him. Naturally he was the pilot of an experimental ship that could travel back and forth between what could be gently described as Hell.

He was certain that his semblance was involved in that somehow.

Qrow soared along the rift. To his eye it didn’t look like anything irreplaceable had been hit, though he wasn’t exactly an expert on starship mechanics. Honestly, he couldn’t really get what he needed from a surface. He had to go inside. He had to be certain. If he left something to chance, he was certain it would go poorly for him. This little fact of life meant that Qrow, despite his unshaved exterior, approached a situation only when he was certain of the outcome. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t go off half-cocked. He did.

Often.

But not for lack of care on his part. Qrow went in with every angle he could cover, covered. But he had to contend, ultimately, against himself. Often in the worst possible way. Which meant that he failed.

Often.

But he was still alive, and he always got results. Which was why Ozpin relied on him so much despite his handicap. And with a situation like the one he was in now he was going to leave _nothing_ to chance.

Qrow brought the _Harbinger_ to a halt and matched the rotation of the great ship.

Nothing to chance.

He sent out an in-depth sensor ping into the great ship. There was no sense in hiding his presence out here, he was the only living thing for light years out here in the void between systems.

No life. Radiation was heavy, but nothing his suit couldn’t protect him from, and more importantly not so heavy that hardened memory would decay. It was perfect, or as perfect as a wrecked hulk drifting in the most hostile environment known to man, in this dimension at least, could be.

Qrow hummed with suspicion. Auspex wasn’t picking up anything around, he couldn’t see anything, and there _shouldn’t_ be anything out here anyway.

He hummed again. He tapped the auspex screen, hoping it would tell him that his sensors were malfunctioning. He drummed his fingers on the yoke. He hummed. He sighed. He couldn’t really do more from out here and he was having a hard time restraining his excitement as it was. He needed to get on with it, every second he wasted gave something a chance to go wrong.

Qrow nudged the _Harbinger_ forward, gently easing himself into the great rift. Debris softly plinked off of his armorglass viewscreen as he carefully entered the interior of the wounded warship. He needed to find an intact corridor and make his way to the ships battle-bridge, there he should be able to find everything he needed. He couldn’t depend on the ships bridge having power, or even being intact, but he was certain that on this class of warship the battle-bridge had its own reactor, and if the specs he was looking at on his HUD were anything to go by, it shouldn’t be depleted quite yet.

Convenient. Qrow hummed with the suspicion of a man who knew with absolute certainty that what could go wrong would go wrong.

He flicked on his floodlights and was greeted by a uniformed corpse drifting gently in the vacuum. Bodies didn’t really rot in the void, internals would break down until the corpse sprung a gas leak, but external features generally remained untouched, at first. Prolonged exposure to the void sapped liquids from the body and discolored everything else, creating what veteran voidsmen called ‘wraiths.’ Qrow looked into the ghostly features of what had probably been a female officer a few thousand years ago. She was little more than a huddled mummy. Her hair floated in a great discolored mass and her hands clutched a rebreathing system, too little too late.

Qrow hated this part. He had dug his way through a fair share of hulks, and honestly the wraiths had stopped bothering him a while back, it was the bodies at the heart of the ship that he dreaded. Some of them seemed to be completely unaffected by the passage of time, they could have died seconds before he opened the door for all he knew. He hated finding those. Wraiths weren’t really human, as far as he was concerned, but those bodies. Those reminded him all too keenly of his own mortality and the dangers of his chosen occupation.

“Aha.” Qrow spotted his entry point. The spinal freight corridor. It ran the length of the ship and was connected to all the other major corridors and lifts; it should get him to exactly where he wanted to go. And better yet, it was cavernous, he didn’t have to abandon _Harbinger_ yet.

He eased his way down the massive corridor, sending debris and wraiths spinning gently into the walls and ceiling. He saw signs of conflict among the bodies; mixed uniforms, las burns on the walls and floor, destroyed crates and sundered bodies. As he moved, he tracked a battle that had taken place three thousand years ago.

She had been boarded, that much was obvious. The defenders had fought from behind boarding shields and makeshift barricades. The attackers hadn’t needed to follow such niceties. They had been Space Marines. Demigods of war. Genetically engineered superhumans.

Monsters.

They fought from inside great suits of ceramite plate, nearly impervious to any man portable weapons that could be brought to bear within the tight corridors of a voidship. And they used weapons that could annihilate several armored men in a single shot. Once they had been the God-Emperor’s greatest tool. They had united mankind beneath His great banner. Then they had turned against Him and had broken everything He had wrought. Some had stayed loyal, many had turned against Him and by extension humanity. Here were the actions of traitors.

Here they had marched forward and ground the armsmen of this warship into bloody meat, there the defenders had made their stand, there they had broken and rallied. Qrow watched the epitaph of violence, unmoved for so many thousands of years, tell its tale. The armsmen had stopped them. He wasn’t certain how, but they had forced the marines to a halt and ground them down. These men and women, armed with nothing more than faith and copious amounts of laser fire, had turned back the greatest marvels humanity had ever wrought. Qrow looked up at the massive rift running down the ship’s spine.

He could only assume that the Marines had been poor losers.

Qrow quietly cursed. Ahead of him was an impressive pileup of crates, corpses and ordinance. It stretched from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. He couldn’t push through it, not without risking his ship and his life. He grounded _Harbinger_ and maglocked her to the deck. He carefully decoupled the warpdrive and completely shut down the engines. There could be no mistakes.

Qrow put on his suit piece by piece, checking each of his seals and armor plates as he fixed them into place. He had time after all. He could afford to be a little over-cautious. Living under the Sword of Damocles that was his semblance meant that Qrow had to walk a very thin line between, ‘just get it over with’ and ‘be prepared for anything.’ He dealt with it by carefully managing his time. When there were a lot of moving parts, he acted quickly, instantly even. But when things slowed down, he took his time. He knew it was all going to go wrong, but there had to be points when it everything was _less_ likely to go wrong.

Right?

It was best not to really think about it too hard.

Qrow pulled his helmet into place and went over his seals one more time. His exosuit was a gray suit of carapace armor fixed to a jet-black body glove. His helmet was an armorglass bubble with attached cameras, flashlight, and optional HUD. Qrow liked to see what was coming and he figured that if something was going to land a headshot, a little more armor probably wasn’t going to save him, so he’d rather see them coming than give them the chance. He kept a boarding shotgun across his back, a short power-sword at his side, and three flashbangs on his belt. Ideally, he’d face any prospective enemies in _Harbinger_ , but on the off chance that he had to fight in the claustrophobic corridors of a warpship, he’d rather have something that couldn’t really miss, and something else that didn’t take a lot of elbowroom to use.

Qrow checked his seals and oxygen levels one last time before he cycled the airlock and stepped out into the vacuum.

There was something solid about being in a starfighter. Maybe it was the cool rush of air against his skin, or the feel of power emanating from the pedals. Maybe it was the ability to simply fly away from danger. Whatever it was it was wholly absent in his exosuit. Qrow was all too aware of the airless void centimeters away from his skin.

He tried not to think about it.

“Alright.” He said to himself, more to challenge the silence than anything.

“Battle-Bridge…” He stopped and consulted the schematics that his helmet helpfully displayed in front of him, “Dead center of the ship, Deck 250-A.” He sighed and reached for his flask, forgetting the myriad of reasons he shouldn’t, and couldn’t, take a drink right now. He sighed again. It was going to be a long walk.

/-/

Qrow waded through the debris and wraiths that clogged much of the elevator shaft. He lightly hopped from hand hold to hand hold, annoyed that he couldn’t simply soar down the elevator shaft. Any other time he’d be tempted, but not here. Not now.

“239-B, 240-A…” He rumbled as he made his way down the shaft. He’d been keeping a running commentary to himself as he’d trekked the ship. He couldn’t handle the silence. Not coupled with the corpses and the darkness.

Rationally he knew he was alone. He knew he was the only living thing aboard. His mind knew that, and his body had been well trained to stay calm. But a primal corner of his mind refused to be ignored. Hence the mumbling.

“I wonder what Ozpin’s gonna do when I get back?” He mused to himself in between counts.

“Anything I want is what he’s gonna do.” Qrow smiled. He’d have some time off after this. Oh. He’d have some _serious_ time off after this. He could ask Ozpin for his own planet if he wanted. But he didn’t really want a planet, no telling how his semblance would affect that anyway. What he really wanted was to see Taiyang and the girls. Ruby had to be five by now, and Yang must have been seven. He really missed them. And he was certain that Taiyang would be glad to have him around, at least for a little while. Summer had been off on assignment almost as long as he had. Maybe she’d be back when he got back. Now that would be something to see. STRQ never got the chance to get together. That train of thought brought him up short.

“Bitch.” He mumbled. Even gone his sister managed to ruin his day. His mumbling monologue brought short, he focused on the numbers.

“249-B, 250-A.” He grinned. “There you are baby.” he purred at the door.

“Let’s see what you’ve got for me.” Qrow gripped the door and pulled. No dice. Oh well, he would have looked really stupid if he had breached an unlocked door. He placed four small charges along the doorjamb where the sealing mechanisms were. He had done this more times than he could count. And he was certain he’d do it more once he got back from his well-earned vacation. He wondered what Ruby would like, Yang would be easy, she couldn’t have changed much in two years, but Ruby would be a completely different person…

The was a slight pulse as the breaching charges tore their way through the door and let out a sudden breath of air

Right. Delicate breaching operation.

Focus.

Qrow eased the now pliant door open. The bridge crew were still at their posts. And creepy. If it wasn’t for their long nails and slightly longer than regulation hair, he’d have thought that his breaching charge killed them. Qrow floated onto the bridge and gently moved the remains of a tech from his station.

“Reactor, Reactor, Reactor.” he mumbled, brushing the unfamiliar console. He flicked a couple of unfamiliar switches on and off hoping to get lucky. Like that would happen.

“Okay. So, this is how it’s going to be.” He wasn’t really surprised, but a small part of him had hoped that things would go his way for once. Oh well. Qrow moved to the next station. Nope, that was auspex. He looked at the officer sitting in the captain’s chair. He probably knew where the bridge reactor was and if he wasn’t going to be forthcoming, his chair might.

Qrow sent the officer tumbling toward the ceiling and took a good look at the captain’s chair. It was attached to a hydraulic arm that, if functional, would have allowed the bridge officer to move himself behind any of the command stations and his armrests had several override keys that would have presumably allowed him to control any given station from the comfort of his chair, and most importantly, they were labeled.

“Voids, Engines, Vox, Auspex...Power!” Qrow gave a quiet whoop of delight, maybe luck was on his side for once. He pushed the button. Nothing. Well. That made sense. Okay, this was going to be a little more difficult than he thought.

Qrow sighed and looked up from the chair, hoping against hope that something would just stand out to him. And to his surprise, something did. A little red light. Faintly blinking.

Jackpot.

Qrow rushed over to the station. Nothing about it screamed “Power” but that little red light wasn’t there before so it had to be connected to what he did right? Right? This couldn’t be his semblance. Right?

Qrow sighed. Better not to think about it.

He pushed the button. The console hummed to life. Qrow breathed a sigh of relief. Another urgent button began to blink, Qrow took a closer look at it, not trusting fate to be kind twice. It was marked “Cycle.” Reactors cycled. This was probably fine. He pushed the button.

The entire bridge hummed to life. Lights began to flash on all of the stations. He was quite certain a few alarms were screeching, but thankfully the vacuum protected him from such nonsense. He rushed over to the captain’s chair. He only had one thing to do here. He slammed down into the chair, heedless of the corpse juice that had no doubt sunk deep into the leather seat. Well, not heedless, but ignoring.

He punched three buttons in rapid succession, bringing up the ships log and beginning the playback.

“Ship’s log.” A feminine voice crackled. “ _Beacon_. Officer of the Watch speaking…” Qrow sat back, ignoring the rest of the log. He had found her. He had found the _Beacon_. Qrow sat thunderstruck in the captain’s chair as the voice continued to drone about coordinates and engine readings through his helmet speakers.

He absently muted the voice. He had really done it. Here he was, sitting in the captain’s chair of the ship he had spent his entire career searching for. Every hunt, every battle, every dingy bar room, every filthy dock, every scrap of information gathered. Everything that he had done had been to find this ship. And here he was. Sitting on her bridge.

Summer was going to be _so_ pissed. Oz had tasked them both with the hunt for the legendary ship all those years ago. He could still remember their last conversation before they had parted.

“I’ll bet you 10,000 thrones that you find it first.” She had said.

He had nearly choked on his drink.

“You’ll _what?_ ” He slapped his hand onto the table, steadying himself and getting a closer look at her face. He could see the mischief in her eyes, and the grin she was trying to suppress. 

“I said,” she could barely keep the laughter out of her voice, he couldn’t tell if it was from his reaction or if she was enjoying her own joke that much, “That I bet you 10,000 thrones that you find the _Beacon_ before I do.”

He took a breath and regained his composure, “Are you trying to make my semblance help you find the ship?” Behind him he could hear Taiyang scrambling around the living room with his daughters. A crash. A thud. Summer’s eyes didn’t even flick toward the noise. She was focused on him

“Why not? We have to search across millions of lightyears worth of empty space, I’ll take any edge I can get.” Most of the humor had left her voice, though he could still see the sparkle in her eyes. Qrow took a sip of his drink and contemplated her proposal.

“But wouldn’t the odds of either of us finding it stay the same?” He mused, “If you take away all of my chance to find it, then, on a whole, our chances to find it shouldn’t change.”

She flicked a peanut shell at him.

That was fair.

“You should stop thinking about it so hard.” She said, “Are you in?”

He probably _should_ stop thinking about it so hard.

“I’m in.” he had said.

That had been two years ago. Summer had been back to Vale Station quite a few times since then, but he had been gone for the full shift. He had quite the payday coming to him when he got back. He could see the girls again, he could see Taiyang, and most importantly he could see the look on Summer’s face. Ozpin hadn’t forced him to be gone for so long. In fact, Oz practically begged him to take a break and come home every month when he reported back.

But Qrow couldn’t go back. He missed the girls. He missed his friends. He missed his brother. But he couldn’t go back. He had to prove to himself that he was better than his semblance. That he could stare down his own soul and come out the victor. And, part of him knew, they were better off without him. Even if they didn’t know it.

They were safer if he was out here.

But that didn’t matter now. He had found it. He had done it. He had run million-to-one odds and come out on top. Qrow held the secret belief that if he changed himself enough, that if he worked hard enough, his soul would change. His semblance would change. He had asked Ozpin about it, and Ozpin hadn’t quite said no. Which was all the hope Qrow needed. Maybe now he could go home and play with his girls and drink with his brother without worrying that someone would fall down the stairs and break their neck.

But whatever the case. He had earned his trip home. And he was going to play with his nieces and laugh with Summer and Taiyang. He was going to see his family. Semblance be damned. Speaking of, what was he going to bring the girls? It would have to be something pretty good to justify a two-year absence.

Hmm.

There were bolt pistols in the freight corridor. He could pick up two of those for Yang, she would absolutely love them, and he damn sure wasn’t going to find anything cooler in a giftshop. He would take out the firing pins of course. He wasn’t an idiot.

But Ruby. He hadn’t seen her since she was three, and back then all she had really wanted was something to chew on. What did five-year-old girls want?

A dog maybe?

Qrow was snapped out of his reverie by an insistent blinking at the edge of his vision.

The auspex.

The ships auspex still worked? How was it getting power? Had he cycled the bridge reactor or the primary reactor? Could he do that with the push of a single button? Was the ship going to explode?

That didn’t really matter right now though, did it.

If the reactor was going to go critical there wasn’t much _he_ could do about it. What he could do was check what the ship was picking up. The _Beacon_ was an Oberon-class Battleship. One of the largest ships in humanity’s arsenal. There were other ships of similar tonnage, but what made Oberons, and especially the _Beacon_ , special was that their sensors were the furthest reaching and most sensitive aboard any imperial warpship, and among the Oberon Class, the _Beacon_ was a paragon. The fact that she was picking up anything at all was a credit to her class. There was a reason Ozpin wanted her so badly.

Qrow tapped the auspex key on the captain’s console. A tactical map was projected in front of him. It showed him the solid form of _Beacon_ , pulsing gently, and an angry swarm of red dots that the ships cogitator hesitantly labeled as fighters.

Qrow sighed.

Qrow sighed deeply.

Well. Looked like his semblance was still in full effect.

Grimm. It had to be. There was nothing else out here. No one could track the _Harbinger_ by conventional means, he was certain of that. No one knew that the _Beacon_ was out here. He was _damned_ certain of that.

He must have gotten their attention. Maybe it was his sensor pulse, maybe it was the ships reactor. Maybe it was plain bad luck. It didn’t matter now. The Grimm were here.

The Grimm were an enigma. The Imperium at large knew them as just another xenos species to be eradicated, if it knew of them at all. Qrow didn’t really know what they were. He wasn’t sure _Ozpin_ knew what they really were. Experts agreed that they were some sort of warp creature. Grimm didn’t eat, breed or even leave corpses behind. They just killed. These were all the hallmarks of a standard daemon, but the Grimm were different. They didn’t have a psychic resonance; they didn’t have a soul. If a psyker tried to spot one with witch-sight she would see a complete void. Nothing.

Most of that was academic though. What was important to the people of the Remnant subsector was that Grimm were drawn to high concentrations of negative emotion. This meant that Remnant didn’t really have the sights common to the rest of the Imperium. There weren’t any forge worlds, there weren’t any hive worlds, in fact there was only one colonized world in the whole sector. The ice world of Atlas. And they only got away with it by devoting their entire world, body and soul, to defense.

The rest of the Imperial presence in Remnant was confined to massive star-forts. Great space stations, flying cities, spinning in the void. Cramped, but easily defended. Atlas, Vale, Mistral, Vacuo, and the wandering fleet of Menagerie. These were the lights of humanity burning in the void.

And it was up to Qrow and the others like him to keep the Grimm from snuffing them out.

The Segmentum Pacificus was a strange place full of stranger creatures, that had never fully knelt to the Emperor’s will. Constant warpstorms meant that contact with the wider Imperium was limited at best or absent at worst. Which was a two-way street.

On one hand the people of Remnant had a significant amount of freedom that was rarely afforded to more connected worlds, but on the other, they couldn’t depend on the Imperium to offer them protection. There were no battlefleets coming to the rescue, there were no numberless legions bleeding for humanity’s supremacy, there were no invincible Space Marines bearing death and vengeance. There were only the huntsmen.

And right now, there was only Qrow.

He had to move quickly. The Grimm were here for him, there was no other reason. And if they were here for him then they knew _exactly_ where he was. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, he could always run, there was no shame in living to fight another day. But not now.

Qrow was certain that if he left the Grimm to their devices now, they would absolutely infest the _Beacon_ , and that was something that neither he nor Oz could afford to let happen. He looked down at the auspex again. Thirty contacts. Closing fast He could handle that.

Probably.

Barring any bad luck.

Qrow moved fast. He flew from the chair and soared up the lift shaft, bulling his way through errant wraiths. Subtlety long forgotten. _Harbinger’s_ engine would be cold. It would take it at least three minutes to warm up to peak performance, five if he spun up his warp drive.

All he had to do was survive the attention of thirty Grimm for three minutes and it would be over. He had this.

He grabbed two Bolt Pistols as he screamed down the freight corridor. Never let it be said that he didn’t love his nieces.

Qrow slammed through into _Harbinger_ ’s airlock, barely giving it time to go through an emergency cycle. He didn’t care, speed was key right now. He ripped off his helmet as he crashed into the cockpit. He flicked the ignition and _Harbinger_ growled to life. She could feel the Grimm.

Qrow didn’t think that prolonged contact with a realm composed entirely of soulstuff could imbue a ship with sentience. But he _could_ feel her anticipation. His viewscreens were sharper. The yoke vibrated lightly. His weapon displays came up almost before he keyed them. It was hard not to share her excitement. After all, he was as much a weapon as she was.

_Harbinger_ soared out of the rift, her engines roaring a battle cry at the Grimm who dared to challenge her. Qrow keyed his auspex. It was time to see what he was dealing with.

Thirty contacts, two significantly larger than the rest. He couldn’t see them yet, but he already knew exactly what he was dealing with. A school of razorteeth herded on by two voidfins. Alright. New plan. He had to end this in a single pass. One stroke. If he didn’t cut them down to size soon, he’d be overwhelmed.

Grimm fought in close quarters, whether in the void or on solid ground. Considering that distance in void combat was typically measured in AU’s Qrow had a significant advantage as the fight began, and if the Grimm had been up against any normal opponent, they would have the advantage once they closed the gap.

There was a reason he had dubbed her a Scythe-class fighter. Two razor-sharp, and heavily reinforced, wings sprung out to his sides. He was pretty sure he hadn’t told _Harbinger_ to do that.

Ahead of him the Grimm grouped themselves into a great globe of black and red, their baleful eyes locked on his ship. The razorteeth surged ahead of their larger cousins. They looked like piranhas, if piranhas were black, the size of a starfighter, and covered with baleful red runes.

He let out a burst of las fire, he had to thin their ranks before they closed in. Two Grimm down and their attention well and truly caught. Light, golden and bright, lanced out into the black from his silver ship as Qrow spun to the right. He had to corral them, keep them tight and draw them away from the _Beacon_. The swarm, down several Grimm, darted in one movement, tracking him and closing the distance.

It was pointless to gun for the voidfins from this distance. The armor plates on the massive shark-like Grimm were more than enough to turn aside his fire, but the razorteeth were dropping like flies.

The Grimm gaped their maws, howling silently at him through the void. Qrow bared his teeth back at them. They were closing on each other fast. Qrow only had time for one last volley before he was upon them. He had to make it count.

He fired at the right edge of the swarm, encouraging them back tightly together, which they were only too happy to do, after all, the closer together they were the more bodies they could bring to bear against him.

Qrow was glad that Grimm were stupid.

Qrow fully deployed his wings and threw _Harbinger_ into a tight spin. Previously his wings had been close to the body of his ship, the better to focus his fire, and to keep his profile tight, but now they were fully extended and perpendicular to _Harbinger_. Two scythe blades ready to reap the harvest.

He drilled through the swarm like a hot knife through butter. He could feel them impacting on his wings, a slight resistance followed by a smooth slice.

Emperor’s Blood that was satisfying!

Ahead of him his real target loomed. A voidfin. It was three times the size of _Harbinger_ , but all that did was make it an easier target. Qrow shoved the yoke forward and left, flipping himself so that the tip of his right blade was aimed at the massive Grimm. He gunned his right engine stack and his left attitude thruster sending _Harbinger_ into a deadly spin. He flew through the void like a throwing star and lanced his rightmost blade deep into the flesh between the voidfin’s plates. He let out a savage bark of triumph and poured every ounce of energy _Harbinger_ had into the engines. The voidfin ripped open like a tube of rotten sausage. He could almost smell blood in the void.

The auspex showed 15 contacts.

Behind him the swarm, significantly smaller, was coalescing, and ahead of him the other voidfin had gotten itself into position. Voidfins were slow and heavily armored. And they were killers. Aside from their bladelike fins and massive jaws, at the center of their bony head was what looked like a massive ruby glowing an infected red.

Qrow saw it only just in time to dodge the bolt of lightning that cracked forth. He looked down at his auspex in the vain hope that the bolt had hit one of the Grimm behind him.

14 contacts. Heh. Bad luck for them.

The voidfin in front of him twisted its body and shoved its armor plates together. Well, it looked like he wasn’t going to get away with that little stunt again. Another flash of lightning arced into his bow. The swarm closed in behind him.

Qrow checked his weapons.

Fried.

That wasn’t good.

The Grimm weren’t likely to give him a chance to lick his wounds. If it had been just the swarm or the voidfin he didn’t think he’d have a problem, but between the two his options were looking slim. Thankfully he had a few more up his sleeve. It was telling that he chose what he did instead of mechashift. He checked his meters. Engines were at 90% capacity and his warpdrive wasn’t even engaged.

He made a split-second decision and burned past the voidfin at top speed. He leaned forward in his cockpit, running a few rough calculations in his head. He shut down his shields and weapon systems and pulled his blades back tight to his body.

He could do this. This would work. If he was lucky.

Emperor’s Teeth did he hate throwing the dice. Qrow spun _Harbinger_ 180 degrees. In the distance the voidfin was little more than a mote of dust on his viewscreen. He flicked a switch, locked onto it, lowered his blast shields, and set his navcomputer.

This would work. This would work. This would work.

This had to work.

Qrow took a deep breath and recoupled the warpdrive. 1% charge.

That wasn’t going to do.

Qrow took a held his breath and shifted every ounce of power in the ship into the warpdrive and Gellar Field.

The Emperor Protects.

_Harbinger_ shuddered.

Three facts: The first; The reason humanity voluntarily sent their ships through a dimension of daemons and madness was because it had a much higher speed limit. _Much_ higher. The speed of light was something the held little bearing on the realm of souls. Without the warp the Imperium as a whole would have been completely unfeasible. No faster than light travel, no faster than light communication. And right now, without the warp, Qrow was finished.

The second; At the moment of transition, either to or from the warp, reality ran runny at the edges, and it took the universe a millisecond to reassert itself. Which hopefully meant that the universe wouldn’t catch Qrow breaking a few speed-limit laws.

The third; _Harbinger_ had an _extremely_ well armored prow.

Qrow was banking on it all working like he thought it should. He was in and out of the warp before he was even aware that transition had taken place.

Besides, if he didn’t live through this Summer would kill him. Well, after that stunt she’d probably kill him anyway. Qrow raised his blast shields and reengaged his flight cameras. Around him was a cloud of rapidly decaying black chunks and, in a pleasant turn of events, no voidfin.

He grinned and deployed his scythes. The rest was just clean-up.

/-/

The warp was a dangerous place. It was a twisted reflection of realspace composed entirely of unrefined soulstuff and populated by the emotions of nearly all living things. Every moment of joy, every moment of anger, every flare of passion or boredom generated life in the warp.

In the warp you could quite literally face your inner daemons.

And in the grim darkness of the 41st Millennium there was only war.

Gone were the wonders of progress, for there were none now who remembered them. Absent were the joys of love and laughter, for they were drowned beneath the greed of thirsting gods. Missing was the honorable warrior, for he had been sacrificed on the altar of violence by his bloodthirsty kinsman. Perverted were the plans of righteous men, for they were tainted by the schemes of the corrupt.

As a consequence, the warp was a dangerous place, unstable and unknowable, for to look upon it was to gaze into the maw of madness and know with certainty that the madness gazed back.

When humanity had first ventured into the stars there had been no way to sustain prolonged warp travel, no way to stumble their way through the dark. Navigational cogitators, like the one aboard the _Harbinger_ , could handle short ranged jumps, perhaps from local star to local star, though that was pushing the realms of mechanical ability.

This meant that Qrow was dependent on larger ships with dedicated Navigators for long distance travel. Thankfully Ozpin maintained close, if not friendly, relations with the Schnee Dynasty of Rogue Traders. The Schnee ships ferried his Huntsman around, and in return got a more than capable escort for their more dangerous business ventures. It was a good arrangement that kept the Schnee in the right place to sell their weaponry and Huntsman in the right place to use it.

Qrow hated it.

He hated not being at the helm. He hated sitting in a ships mess and drinking the foul brew that passed for caff. He hated the tainted smell of air that had been recycled over and over again for hundreds of years. And most of all he hated putting his fate entirely in the hands of an inbred loony who had a great bloody eye in the middle of his forehead. There had to be a sane alternative to Navigators.

Sadly, the Imperium hadn’t found it yet.

Qrow sat in the ships mess and tried not to think about it.

To keep his hands busy, he disassembled and reassembled the bolt pistols he had snagged for Yang. They were masterwork Astartes-pattern bolt pistols. Which meant three things: If they were armed and loaded, they were essentially a delivery system for tiny nuclear bombs. They were worth millions, and he’d probably be killed if any techpriest realized what he was tinkering with.

Yang was going to love them.

He’d have to make some alterations of course. Disarming them, shaving the casings down and swapping the grips for more child friendly variants. Space Marine hands were closer to those of a gorilla than a seven-year-old girl after all.

He doubted that Taiyang would put up much of a fuss, after he was through with the pistols, they’d be no more deadly than a brick.

Children probably played with bricks all the time. He could remember playing with pipes and knives when he was a kid, that was basically bricks by another name.

Well… he had stabbed and bludgeoned people with pipes and knives. Bricks were probably safer, and the pistols were basically bricks.

It’d be fine.

Summer would be another matter, however. She didn’t want her babies anywhere near weaponry. In fact, she wouldn’t even let him tell hunting stories around them. The last thing Summer wanted was for her girls to grow up idolizing Huntsmen.

She didn’t want them to do what STRQ had done. 

Qrow could understand that. Being a Huntsman was a dangerous and often lonely life. Summer had lucked into a loving husband and adoring daughters, and she knew it.

That wasn’t going to stop him from sneaking disarmed pistols under Yang’s pillow though.

But what about Ruby? She was too young for disarmed weaponry, let alone armed weaponry.

That cut Qrow’s gift list down significantly. A teddybear? An action figure? No, she’d think he was patronizing her. A model starship? That held promise, but it would probably be too delicate for the hands of a five-year-old. Maybe a sword? A blunt one of course. No. She was too young to keep it a secret for any length of time. He could ask Ozpin. Oz was the headmaster of an academy; he probably knew how to handle little girls.

On second thought. Not Oz.

Maybe a dog?

A gentle tap on his shoulder snapped him out of his reverie. He jerked his head up to find exactly which unlucky bastard had interrupted his thoughts.

A nervous Schnee crewman stood stiffly at attention.

“We’ve reached Vale station, sir. You’ve received a priority summons from Headmaster Ozpin.”

Qrow was surprised to say the least.

“You told Ozpin I was here?” He asked. The Schnee were usually very good about keeping things confidential.

“No, sir.” The crewman said quickly. “It’s a broad beam message that’s being sent to every Schnee ship coming in system, sir.”

Qrow’s jaw nearly dropped. Ozpin was _always_ circumspect. What in the name of Terra could have him harassing every single ship that came in system?

“Have _Harbinger_ prepped.” He ordered. “I’ll take myself in.”

Qrow considered this latest development as he made his way down to the ship’s hangar. His last check-in had been nearly two months ago, but that wasn’t uncommon. Sometimes there was psychic interference, sometimes Qrow couldn’t find a ship with an astropath. He knew that Oz could trust him to keep himself alive and report in as soon as he could.

And even then. A message to _incoming ships_ made absolutely no sense. If Oz had wanted him, he could have sent a message out to the Schnee astropaths and wait for him to pick it up.

So, what had the old man so jumpy?

Qrow sat down in _Harbinger_ ’s cockpit and ran her through a full diagnostic. He might be going back into action sooner than he thought. The hangar doors opened with a hiss and _Harbinger_ slid out into the void. Vale station hung before him. She spun gently in the velvet black, a top drifting serenely in the void.

Vale was not a space station in the traditional sense, but rather a gargantuan city home to nearly ten million souls. The ancient starport hadn’t been built by the Imperium so much as it had been reclaimed. The great reactors that burned at her heart were an arcane mystery reflecting the glories of a time when humanity had been at its apex, the massive cogitator arrays that guided the constant inflow and outflow of traffic were things little understood by the adepts that manned them, and the great stations weapons were only at a third of their potential effectiveness. And she was one of the most formidable entities in the entire Segmentum Tempestus.

Qrow watched her spin. A great bastion of humanity shining brightly in the void.

Endless freighters cycled in and out of her gargantuan docks, carrying the constant supply of food, commodities, and Dust that the city needed to function on an hourly basis. Patrol craft canvased the solar bodies that made up the station’s home, carrying out the never-ending task of rooting out the Grimm. Qrow enjoyed the sight of such bustling prosperity. It was good to be home, despite Ozpin’s worrying summons.

He pinged the flight array, requesting a path to the mighty port’s apex and to the current site of Beacon Academy. He received a flight path and a berth number almost immediately. Bay 2A. That was as close as he could land to Ozpin’s personal quarters. The old man must have known he was here.

Qrow made his way to Beacon quickly. If Oz knew he was here, then there was no reason to wait. Ozpin was waiting for him in the hangar. That was unusual. Qrow stepped out of _Harbinger_ and nearly ran to him.

“Oz what the hell is-” the old man held up his hand to silence the concerned Huntsman.

Ozpin’s face was tight with controlled emotion. His hands were shaking.

“It’s Summer.”


	2. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, dealing with the death of a loved one in this chapter. Consider this one optional. I introduce some lore and minor original characters which set up some later arcs. But this chapter can reasonably be skipped if you don't want to deal with the death of a parent. Which I totally understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good afternoon guys! This is more of an emotional chapter. Before we begin I just wanted to give some rationale behind why I'm giving the pre-beacon period so much focus. First off it gives me a lot of time to explain how I've altered the lore and explain warhammer lore. I'm assuming that everyone reading is more familiar with RWBY than with warhammer simply because there's so much warhammer lore floating around. Second it's a story I want to tell, as I fell like the 'tragic backstory' in the canon could have been discussed a lot more. Third it's giving me time to get used to the characters that don't get much development in the canon, and giving you guys a chance to get used to how I'm presenting them, rather than just diving into the canon storyline.

The hunter crept quietly through the brush. He was silent, invisible. A perfect predator. Around him he could hear the birds softly calling, the furtive scurrying of small mammals in the underbrush. They masked any slight movement of his own and kept his prey distracted from her predator.

She had an intricate pattern of black and orange stripes, reminiscent of the felids of ancient Terra. She stalked ahead of him, slinking from tree to tree, but she was nothing compared to the hunter. She was wary, alert. She knew she was being hunted; she could feel it, but for all her wariness she couldn’t match his grace and poise. Her eyes darted back and forth as she crept through the undergrowth, she was on the edge of panic. Behind her the hunter waited, he was patient.

At any other time of the year his blond hair would have been the hunter’s greatest weakness, but here among the sun-dappled reds and yellows of a landscape fully in the grip of fall he was nearly invisible. Ahead of him leaves crunched beneath the feet of his prey. She was nearly there. A few more feet and she’d be perfectly lined up with him.

A gentle breeze blew through the forest, rustling the leaf litter and bringing with it the smell of smoke and the sound of distant voices. His prey started and scanned her surroundings. He was confident she wouldn’t spot him. She stepped forward, edging closer and closer to the clearing where he had laid his trap.

There! Now! He pounc-

“Daddy!” A voice cut through the crisp autumn air. Taiyang fell flat on his stomach as he tried to twist in midair to look for his other daughter. In front of him Yang screamed happily and ran deeper into the park, no doubt looking for another place to hide.

Ruby was standing on the other side of the clearing waving furiously to get his attention.

Taiyang sighed and pushed himself to his feet, shedding a considerable number of leaves as he did so.

He’d have to catch Yang later.

He walked over to his youngest daughter. The little girl was in a light red jacket and absolutely covered in leaves. Much like her sister her face was painted, unlike her sister Ruby was painted to look like a dog, behind her he could see the face-painter painting a little boy’s face to look like a red bird, a robin probably. Taiyang had never been very good with birds.

That thought brought a laugh to his lips.

“Why didn’t you find me?” the little girl asked. Face serious.

“Why didn’t I find you?” Even after being a father for seven years Taiyang was still thrown off by the way children’s minds worked.

“Yeah!” Ruby said, “We were playing hide and seek! You’re supposed to find me.”

So, he hadn’t found her soon enough.

“Well that’s because you’re such a good hider!” He tried flattery. Predictably, that didn’t work.

“But you’re a hunter Daddy!” the little girl pouted, indignant for no apparent reason. Taiyang was long accustomed to this, both of his girls had to have things their way, and Emperor help their poor dad if he didn’t read their minds.

“I was looking for Yang.” He tried reason this time. Just as Sissus in the ancient Graekian legends, he rolled the great boulder through the endless labyrinth.

“But you were supposed to find _me_!” He could hear the edge of tears on her voice now. Little kids were difficult like that, flipping from one emotion to the next without any obvious transition. Here he thought she felt betrayed by him not finding her, maybe. It was hard to tell.

“Well I can’t find you now.” He had to move fast before she started crying, there was no closing the floodgates once they had opened. “If you go hide right now, I can look for you!” He filled his voice with excitement, trying to buoy the little girl’s spirits with his own. She sniffled and nodded, running of toward the stand of trees that Yang was no doubt hiding in.

“You have to close your eyes!” she called as she ran. He dutifully closed his eyes and listened as her footsteps shifted. She was doubling back toward the playground. He was glad his babies were smart. As he stood there loudly counting, he took in the sounds of the park around him. There was a festival going on. It was Saint Symeon’s day. Which meant that he had to get up far earlier than he’d like and drag his equally tired daughters down to the church and listen to his grumbly old pastor ramble about duty, sacrifice, and the meaning of the Imperium for an hour and a half. Said pastor was currently grilling burgers and enjoying a quick lho stick when he thought he could get out of his parishioner’s sight; the old man wasn’t half bad once you got him down from his pulpit. The upside of getting up so early was that after the sermon pretty much everyone was out in the park that made up the core of Patch Station’s structure.

This park was the whole reason he and Summer had decided that they’d settle in Patch. It went through all four of the traditional seasons, had simulated weather, and was populated by a whole host of cyber-animals. It was honestly a wonder of the modern age, and murderous to maintain if Lord Winchester’s bar-grumblings were anything to go by. Tai didn’t mind the higher costs that came alongside living in Patch. Signal paid well, and the odd jobs he took from Ozpin paid even better. Not to mention Summer’s near constant mission roster. Patch had a high population of retired Huntsman, and Signal Academy meant that Vale paid close attention to the station’s welfare, which made Patch one of the safest places in Remnant outside of the Big Four.

Of course, people had said the same thing about the Mountain Glenn Colony. But Tai was quite certain that a catastrophe like that wasn’t going to happen here. If only because his daughters were here and there was no way in the Imperium he or Summer would let anything dangerous get anywhere near their babies, barring Qrow he supposed. After all, every rule had exceptions. 

“Twenty!” he loudly called. He quickly scanned his immediate environs, there was Ruby, hiding in the playground. Her little red coat screamed her location to anyone who cared to look. He took a second longer to spot Yang. She was trying a much more active approach to hiding, she never had been good at sitting still for very long. The little girl was in the center of a crowd of chatting adults. It would have been a good spot if she hadn’t been staring directly at him.

Tai pointedly ignored her. The massive grin on her face let him know that she was thoroughly enjoying pulling one over on Dad. Which meant that he could give Ruby the priority that she wanted. Tai moved quickly to the playground; the little girl wasn’t even trying to hide. In fact, she was standing on the top of the slide with her back to him, little coat flapping in the wind. Tai crept quietly to the base of the slide waiting to snatch his daughter the moment she slid down.

A little red blur came screaming down the slide and he quickly grabbed her, “Gotcha!” he yelled, only to find himself holding young Cardin Winchester, his face plastered with surprise. “Wuby said I could weaw the coat!” the little boy cried, recognizing that he was likely in trouble.

Cardin was the same age as Yang, he was a little gullible and still hadn’t quite mastered his R’s. Other than that, he was a good boy, though Tai was certain that was exclusively his mother’s influence. He worried that young Cardin would take after his father as he grew older. Tai could only hope to head that off, or at least apply some corrective brakes, when the boy was old enough to attend Signal.

/-/

“It’s fine Cardin.” Tai said quickly, “I don’t mind. But could you tell me where Ruby was when she gave you the coat?” Cardin hummed, weighing his options between an absent Ruby and a very present Taiyang, his little face hardened. “She told me not to tell you if you asked.” The boy said defiantly. Tai sighed. Ruby had chosen her patsy well. There was no way he could really bully or bribe the son of Lord Winchester into giving away his daughter’s location, not that he’d bully a child. Though he certainly wasn’t above bribery. And he’d already blown the ace he didn’t know he’d had by forgiving Cardin.

Had his little baby really set him up so perfectly? No way. She was _five_. There was no way she could have orchestrated this little deception, not alone anyway.

The flicker of Cardin’s eyes was all the warning he had before two little bodies slammed into his back at top speed, knocking him flat on his face.

“We got you!” A triumphant voice called from somewhere around his kidneys, “We slayed the Grimm!”

He was the Grimm?

“Yeah!” a smaller voice called from the back of his knee, “We’re the best Huntresses in Vale!”

They were Huntresses?

Clearly the game had been changed and he hadn’t been informed. Had that been the reason for Yang’s grin? Had they been banking on him prioritizing Ruby? Had he been set up from the start?

Oh, Emperor. His babies were smart.

Tai shifted, trying to coax his daughters into getting off him. Especially Yang. Her little knees were in the exact worst spot. Of course, his darling babies, whom he loved more than anything in this world, only clung tighter. Which mean that Yang’s knobby knees dug even deeper into his kidney.

If he hadn’t been played so expertly, and if there hadn’t been knees pressing sharply into places knees shouldn’t press, Tai was certain that he’d be extremely proud of his girls. In fact, he was proud, very proud, but right now all he wanted was to do was to buck them off his back.

“Wouldn’t you little ladies rather have ice cream than antagonize your father?” Said a stern voice from somewhere near his shoes. Tai felt a blessed release of pressure as Yang shifted to regard the man behind her. 

“I heard Sister Ginger made her own special recipe! You’d better hurry before it runs out!” The voice said. Taiyang tried to thank the voice as his daughters rocketed off of him, but all that came out was a grunt as Yang used his back for a springboard.

Taiyang raised his head to see a gnarled old hand held before his eyes, attached to the hand were the wizened frame and kind brown eyes of his pastor, Father Abel. Taiyang wasn’t so proud as to deny a helping hand.

“I once faced nearly eighty Grimm on my own you know.” Taiyang joked as he dusted himself off.

The old man laughed, “I’m sure you did! And I’m certain none of them were as smart as two little girls.” Abel regarded Taiyang’s dusty, leaf covered figure for a moment, “You know,” the old man said as he lit a lho stick, “I would be more than happy to look after them during the day if you ever need a break. Right now, I have my day-care class painting Astartes figures for the Feast of the Emperor’s Ascension.”

Taiyang shook his head. “I’m really tempted, trust me. But with me being the only parent around so often, I’d feel like I was abandoning them.” The old priest nodded, “I’ve seen enough parents in your shoes to understand Tai, but one of these days you _will_ need to take a break from them.” Abel took a deep drag from his lho stick, “It takes a village, Taiyang.”

“This village would like to remind you that you shouldn’t smoke those things.” Taiyang said as he took a gentle step away from the smoke cloud that was rapidly accumulating around the priest.

“And this village,” Abel responded, “would like to remind you that I’ve been smoking these since before you were born.” Abel sighed, dropped the spent lho stick, and ground the butt beneath his feet, “The Emperor will take us all at our appointed time, Mr. Xiao Long. And besides, I’m down to three a day.” The old man paused for a moment and gazed across the crowd of laughing and smiling people, a comfortable silence built between the two men as they looked at the fruit of their respective labors.

Taiyang, however, wasn’t one for long introspective silences. “Did you hear they’re finally letting Faunus onto Patch? I’ll bet Lord Winchester is furious.”

Abel turned to regard him. “From what I know Lord Winchester has been at his brother’s grave all morning.” He lit another lho stick and pondered for a moment. “I don’t understand why they insist on being called ‘Faunus.’ They fought a massive bloody war and destroyed the subsector’s ability to properly defend itself for decades so that they could be given full human rights, and they don’t even call themselves human.” He blew a small cloud of smoke and continued grumbling, “I fought beside them against the Orks you know. Some of the finest men and women I ever served beside. They’ve fully earned the right to be inheritors of the Emperor, but they go and give themselves their own silly name-“

Taiyang knew Abel was going to continue on like that for a while. He should have known better than to bring up the Faunus around the old soldier. Taiyang understood why they wanted to be called Faunus. It was an identity thing. They had spent so long fighting the Imperium and building themselves up to be enemies of ‘Normals’ that they just weren’t ready to accept that they were legally, if not culturally, accepted as human beings.

And they certainly weren’t accepted by the common citizen of Remnant. Most citizens of the Imperium barely tolerated abhumans even after they had been sanctioned by the Ecclesiarchy and the Administratum. And the people of Remnant were even less inclined to tolerate the Faunus. Many had lost family in the Faunus Rebellion, and many more had lost family during the Orkish incursions that followed, not to mention the escalated Grimm attacks as a result of the war.

The Remnant Subsector was in a precarious position. Peace had to be maintained at all costs, any protracted conflict drew the Grimm in immense numbers, which meant that more often than not the subsector’s Huntsmen were out finding and suppressing potential threats before they could grow into true dangers. This ever-present need for peace was the only reason that the local Imperial elements had given in to the demands of the Faunus. The Imperium at large was more than willing to bleed and suffer if it meant eventual victory, but the people of Remnant didn’t have such a luxury.

Tai watched his daughters while he contemplated the nature of warfare and Huntsmen. Ruby was following Yang wherever she went, and thankfully didn’t realize that Yang was trying to get away from her.

The girls loved each other, but Ruby was at the age where all she wanted was to be near her big sister and Yang was at the age where she did _not_ want that. Thankfully Yang was more controlled with regard to her sister than she was with other kids. If it had been Cardin following her around, she would have already gotten into a fight.

Taiyang hoped that her semblance wouldn’t encourage such behavior.

Hm. He’d have to consider having her aura unlocked soon. He could do it himself, but that duty was vested in the headmasters of the various training schools around the subsector. The Imperium liked to keep a _very_ close eye on Semblance users and unlocking someone’s aura without proper licensing was a quick route to the grave. The Emperor did not forgive those who crossed His Administratum.

Speaking of unforgiving people obsessed with gold, Taiyang spotted little Cardin Winchester sneaking up behind his eldest daughter.

Tai was pretty sure Cardin had a crush on Yang. Tai could also remember being a seven-year-old boy who didn’t really understand how to articulate his feelings. And Cardin, just like his spiritual little-boy forebears, reached for Yang’s hair.

“Don’t!” Tai was too late. She was already on top of him exactly all the disproportionate vengeance her tiny body could provide.

And Cardin was crying. Great.

“I think it’s time I took the girls home.” Tai said sheepishly to the smoking priest beside him.

Father Abel stopped his grumbling and registered the scene in front of him. He sighed and lit a fourth lho stick, “That’s probably for the best, I’ll calm young Cardin before his mother finds him.”

Taiyang nodded his thanks and quickly went to retrieve his babies.

Did Ruby _really_ have to help Yang kick the little boy?

/-/

Qrow sat quietly at the kitchen table in Taiyang and Summer’s little kitchenette. He stared at the shot of amasec he’d poured himself. He’d also let himself in. Which was probably fine. He’d wanted to vox Tai and let him know that he was coming, but he couldn’t trust himself to hold it together long enough.

So here he was. Sitting in their apartment. Tai’s apartment now, Qrow supposed. Here he was, sitting in the dark, staring at what was likely to be his fifth shot of the morning.

Oz hadn’t told Tai. He’d said that he’d wanted the news to come from someone closer, rather than the man who had sent her to her death, and the man who wasn’t going to let a soon to be grieving family see the body. Ozpin wouldn’t tell him what they had found. Just that the casket was to remain sealed.

Oz thought it would be better that way.

Oz thought a lot of things were better a lot of ways. Oz thought sending Summer out, unsupported, into an area Salem was known to have an interest in was a good idea. Oh, he’d said that she had support. A whole cruiser’s worth of it. But that wasn’t _real_ support. Real support was Him, Tai, and Raven.

That old frakking wizard had sent her out with a fat target on her back and a cruiser to babysit and he’d called it **_support_. **The old man had sent her out to die and now he didn’t even have the balls to tell Tai to his face. Instead he sent Qrow.

Like he always did.

Qrow threw back the shot, savoring the vile taste of cheap amasec.

Qrow looked at the two modified bolt pistols sitting on the table next to the empty shot glass.

Never trust crows bearing gifts. Or however that stupid frakking saying went.

He hadn’t even let Qrow see the body. He’d trusted Qrow with the full mission report, and he hadn’t even let him see what those animals had done to his leader’s body. He trusted Qrow to pass the right details on to Tai and he hadn’t even let him see the body.

Ozpin had told him about Salem, the most dangerous person since Horus-frakking-Lupercal, and he hadn’t let him see the body.

Qrow poured himself another shot.

He’d tried to approach Tai in the park. But he couldn’t do it. He’d taken one look at the happy father doting on his daughters and known that he couldn’t break the man like that. Qrow couldn’t break this news in front of Ruby and Yang. He couldn’t watch their little eyes overflow with tears as their favorite uncle told them that Mom wasn’t coming home. He just wasn’t strong enough.

He couldn’t look Tai in the face knowing her death was _his_ fault. Qrow knew he should have never taken that stupid bet. He had killed her. He was certain of it. There was no other way Summer Rose would have died if his thrice-damned semblance hadn’t doomed her the moment that he took that bet. Or maybe it had doomed her before? It didn’t matter now. She was dead and Qrow’s soul had killed her. He was certain of it.

‘What’s the worst thing that could go wrong?’

Ha.

Ha ha.

His semblance got him every frakking time. He never saw it, could never anticipate it. What was the worst thing that could go wrong? His own success in the shadow of Summer’s death. His own success in the shadow of the death of a mother. A wife. A leader.

So here he was. Sitting in the dark. Staring at what was likely to be his sixth shot of amasec this morning. Waiting for the happy family to come home.

Qrow threw back the shot and poured himself another.

Of course, Summer had been looking for the frakking _Beacon_. Oz thought that Salem had found it first and sent Summer with a whole bloody strike force to snatch it out from under her. And now all Oz had to show for it was a boatful of heroes.

Hero. A fancy word for a corpse with a shocked look on its face.

Qrow stared at what was likely to be his seventh shot of amasec this morning. He didn’t even know if Summer had died a hero, because Ozpin wouldn’t let him see the frakking body. Oh, he’d showed him the sealed casket, ready to be set adrift at a moment’s notice. But he wouldn’t even let him look at her face. Wouldn’t let him see if she even still had a face.

At least she was getting a proper funeral. At least hunters didn’t get reprocessed into soylens bars like everyone else.

Qrow threw back the shot and reached to pour himself another.

The lights came on.

“Qrow?” a confused voice asked from the doorway.

Qrow looked up at Taiyang. His brother had Ruby asleep over his shoulder and Yang standing right behind him.

Welp. Here goes.

/-/

Taiyang looked at the man who was nearly collapsed over his dining room table and made a snap decision.

“Yang, go to your room.” Taiyang said quietly to the little girl behind him.

“But that’s Uncle Qrow!” The little girl protested, leaning around Tai’s legs to get a better look at one of her favorite people in the world. She leaned into the apartment and got a good look at the figure hunched over her table and caught the smell of alcohol that permeated the air.

“Okay, Dad.” She said quickly. She was young, not stupid. “Do you want me to take Ruby to her room?”

Taiyang didn’t have long to consider the suggestion. He passed the little girl down to her sister and watched her stagger under the weight of a body nearly two-thirds her size. Carrying her sister would guarantee that Yang was out of earshot for at least a few minutes.

Taiyang waited until she was firmly down the hallway toward the bedrooms before rounding on Qrow.

“Qrow, what in Terra’s name is going on here?” Taiyang hissed as he strode across the apartment. “What are you doing drunk? at noon? in _my kitchen_?” Tai stopped in front of the hunched figure, noting the half-empty bottle and the double-shot glass. At least he knew _how_ Qrow had ended up drunk in his kitchen.

Qrow made to stand, thought better of it, and collapsed back into his chair. Amber eyes, flushed with red, stared up at Taiyang.

Qrow had been crying.

Taiyang’s blood ran cold. “Qrow,” he said softly, dreading that he knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, “What’s going on?”

Qrow’s eyes told him everything he needed to know. Everything he feared.

Tears came, unbidden, Tai fell to his knees in front of the table. “No.” he begged. Staring up into the eyes of a man who could offer no respite. “No.” His voice cracked as begged again. He felt nauseous. He couldn’t see through the tears in his eyes. “No.” His plea was interrupted by a wracking sob that shook his whole body.

Qrow slowly stood and grasped Taiyang by the shoulders, “Come on, Tai.” He slowly stood the larger man up and maneuvered him to the couch. A drunk man carrying a broken man. It wasn’t a pretty sight as Qrow fought to maintain his balance and Taiyang just let himself be dragged.

“Why?” Tai sobbed. That was all he could say. All he could think. Why her? Why now? Why him? Why did she have to die?

Qrow heaved him onto the couch. He slumped there, boneless, broken. He should have been with her. He shouldn’t have let her go alone. She had told him it was an important mission and all he had done was kissed her and sent her off with a smile. He hadn’t tried to stop her, hadn’t tried to save her. He had sent her to her death without doing anything. He had killed her.

“Salem got her.” Qrow said, answering the question Tai hadn’t asked. “Tore through a whole cruiser to get her.” As if that softened the blow.

“Where is she?” Tai hiccupped through his tears.

“Her body.” Qrow made sure to make that clear, he couldn’t pull any punches now, “Is with Ozpin at the academy.” Qrow took a deep breath. He had to get the full message across now, it was no use delaying it. “You can’t see the body Tai.” Qrow’s voice broke as he fought for control, “Ozpin’s sealed her casket.”

Taiyang roared.

/-/

Yang carefully placed Ruby down onto her bed. Well, as carefully as she could manage. Ruby was heavy. Yang was thankful that her sister could sleep through pretty much anything.

She heard a yell from the living room. She was pretty sure it was Dad’s voice.

She had heard them talking a little bit while she had been carrying Ruby to her room. She could tell the news was bad. She had seen the look on Dad’s face when he had handed Ruby over to her, and to make it all worse she’d never seen Qrow like that before. She’d never seen any grown-up like that before.

Yang slipped out of Ruby’s room and into the hallway. She could here Uncle Qrow’s raspy voice, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She could hear another sound too, a sound that made her stomach drop as she inched down the hallway back toward the living room.

“…I saw her Tai.” She heard Qrow rasp, “You wouldn’t recognize her. You wouldn’t want to see her.”

Yang heard that sound again. That horrible, horrible sound. She crept up to the end of the hallway and looked into the living room. Dad and Uncle Qrow were on the couch, their backs to her.

Dad mumbled something. His head was in his hands as he shook on the couch. He was crying. She was certain of that now. But she still didn’t know why. And she still didn’t know what to do.

Uncle Qrow leaned closer to Dad, saying something that Yang couldn’t quite hear. Dad cried louder.

Yang was frozen. She’d never seen a grown-up cry before. She stared at her Dad. He was big and strong. He protected her and Ruby from everything and watched them when Mom wasn’t home. He made dinner and snuck midnight snacks with Yang. He played with them until they got tired and carried them to bed. He carried Yang on his shoulders, and she felt like she was on the top of the world. Dad could pick up Mom and carry her around the room. When Dad laughed you could hear it everywhere on the station. Dad was a teacher. He even told other grown-ups what to do.

Dad didn’t cry. Dad couldn’t cry.

She knew what she had to do.

/-/

Taiyang looked up as he heard footsteps thud behind him. The next thing he knew there was a warm little body in his lap. He looked down at Yang’s mess of blonde hair as she buried her face into his chest.

“Don’t cry Daddy.” A muffled voice said from his chest as she hugged him as hard as she could.

“Yang maybe you should-” Qrow began, Tai cut him off with a sharp look. He wrapped his arms around his eldest daughter, holding her tightly. He would have to be okay. He would have to be better.

For her. For them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a lot of Qrow's characterization from his song 'Bad Luck Charm', I find that the show's music gives the characters far more depth than the canon does sometimes.
> 
> Thanks for reading, suggestions welcome.


	3. The Timeless Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [...] -That said its time for some authors notes. First off this chapter takes place before chapter three. Second off one of the major reasons I took a break was because I was unhappy with what I was doing with the story, I got caught up in the character drama and forgot that I was going for something closer to an action adventure, which is what the tags promise. That said Grimm Future will be walking away from the heavy emotion type stuff and more into a plot that actually moves. I don't know if you've noticed, but not much has actually happened. Really these first four chapters are a prologue before I hit the main plot, I just really needed the time to explain warhammer and how I'm changing things. This should be the last 'prologue' chapter. Events will begin to actually happen in Chapter 5.
> 
> Beta: Taking It Easy

The Warp boiled and bucked. It raged and screamed. Waves of hatred and desire crashed and bubbled. Apathy and excitement clawed and pulled at the small island of reality that tore through a sea of emotion. The Warp hated the interloper. The Warp rebelled against the chains that mere observation forced upon it. It screamed against the wrongness that was definition and solidity. It was the realm of souls, the realm of change. Reality was not meant to be here. The outside was not meant to come in. The very idea of comprehension was anathema to it. The Warp seethed at its own impotence in the face of a mere reflection of reality.

The warpship pushed on, heedless, or at least inured, to the tides of emotion that buffeted it. The _Timeless Father_ slipped through the Warp like oil through water. If there was an outside observer, they would see the little ship dart between the maws of titans and crest gargantuan waves of impossible color. Around it, souls screamed, brought to the bubble of reality like moths to a flame. They burned with desire and hatred, even if they themselves did not fully understand why. They flew and danced, scrabbling at the ship’s Gellar field, desperate to force their way inside.

Were they the twisted reflections of the crew within? Were they cast off emotions of factory workers and dying soldiers? Were they the reflection of past lovers and parents, perverted by a realm overrun with pain? Or were they simply mindless predators drawn to the prospect of prey? In the end it didn’t matter, for if they had their wish, no matter what they were, the crew within the little vessel would suffer a fate worse than death.

Inquisitor Ozpin stood silently on the bridge and gazed at the shuttered viewport. When the ship reentered realspace he would be rewarded with the sight of a million jewels twinkling in black velvet. For now, he was only rewarded with the dull grey of steel. His thumb wore a familiar groove in his silver topped cane. It was the only sign that he was discomforted, and only those who knew him extremely well could spot it.

He hated the Warp.

This was not an unusual sentiment. Most living things despised the Warp. Even veteran voidsmen could barely tolerate the sickness and nightmares that came with Warp travel. Indeed, the most that normal humans typically suffered was warp sickness and the occasional nightmare, but to those who had an intrinsic connection to the realm of daemons, the Warp was a far more painful experience. Simply being able to feel the utter hatred that scratched and pushed at the Gellar field was enough to send many psykers into debilitating migraines. There was a reason the ship’s resident astropath spent his time in a medically induced coma. Though that did not spare him the nightmares.

Ozpin stared at the shutter and pressed his thumb tightly against his cane. He did not grit his teeth, he did not close his eyes, and he did not give a grunt of pain as he forced his consciousness past his migraine and focused on the soft chatter of the bridge crew behind him.

“Third engine stack shows a power fluctuation three percent beyond expected parameters,” droned the voice of a servitor. The servitor was the upper body of a man wired directly into an engineering console. The Imperium despised artificial intelligence, but the need for central processing units could not be willed away by simple ignorance and hate. Which meant that imperial engineers turned to materials that weren’t artificial. The servitor itself was hopefully a lobotomized criminal, rather than an innocent man taken from the streets. It’s teeth and jaw had long ago been removed and replaced with a steel vox grill, various tubes pumped nutrients into it and extracted waste products. Its skin was an ashen grey and its eyes and muscles occasionally twitched and jittered, reminding Ozpin all too frequently that it could probably feel pain.

“Compensate from fourth stack and order an engineering team to look into it,” came the voice of a bridge officer, who was thankfully not enduring the living hell that was being a sentient CPU.

“Compliance.” Droned the servitor.

It was little more than a zombie, Ozpin decided, and the techpriests who performed its lobotomy and implantation had been akin to necromancers.

Ozpin did not like techpriests.

Ozpin did not like much of what the Imperium of Man had to offer, but he understood it as a necessity. Many had to suffer so that many more could survive. Did he agree with the great slave worlds of the Mechanicus? Did he agree with the conscription of millions of young men and women on a daily basis? Did he agree with the power-armored child soldiers that bestrode the stars as gods?

No.

But he understood each as a necessity. This bloody age was one of necessity and sacrifice. His lot had always been necessity and sacrifice. The cruelty of the Imperium was a necessity. The pain and suffering of untold billions a sacrifice. And right now, the death of one of his students was pain, and his journey through the Warp was but a small sacrifice.

The pounding in his head would end soon. He hadn’t been standing on the bridge staring at increasingly boring metal and subjecting himself to every sharp noise and blinding light that his migraine thought to pierce his consciousness with for nothing. Dewarp would come soon, and with it would come relief. Relief and duty.

Behind him he could hear the Huntsmaster whip her bridge into shape. Servitors droned status reports and deck officers whispered terse commands. Normally the bridge would be a far louder place, but Ozpin’s presence and the gravity of their mission had reduced the deck to a sea of hushed whispers and droning servitors.

Ozpin heard the slight whine of hydraulics as the Huntsmaster maneuvered her chair behind him. She waited patiently for his acknowledgement. He gave it silently with a nod of his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“All is ready for dewarp, Inquisitor.” Huntsmaster Goodwitch said quietly. She was more than familiar with the migraines that Warp travel brought upon him, and she could see his thumb pressing down furiously onto his cane. He nodded his understanding. Every second that his mind knew that it was in the Warp when it didn’t need to be compounded his migraine. Every moment his soul inched closer to freedom the daemons beyond the Gellar field screamed louder.

The _Timeless Father_ shuddered as it forced its way back into reality and, like a gift from the Emperor Himself, Ozpin’s headache was lifted. Only to be replaced with the all too familiar weight of the mantle of responsibility.

“We’ve arrived at the _Blooming Rose_ ’s distress beacon, Inquisitor.” Glynda reported, “Auspex is picking up her wake, I doubt she’s traveled far.” Her voice was grim. It had taken the _Father_ nearly a month to make its way out to the coordinates that had brought in by a passing Schnee freighter. Nearly two months had passed since the _Blooming Rose_ had screamed into the void for aid. None of the crew had any illusions as to their mission. This was not a rescue. It was salvage.

“Have the tugs and the boarding pods prepped.” Ozpin said clearly, he wanted the bridge crew to hear the command and confidence in his voice, “I want a flight of Furies out in escort. Let’s do this properly.” He watched the bridge jump into action as the crew prepared their ship for a fight that would never come. Techs scrambled in their pits and servitors droned data. He could imagine the hangars, pilots rushing to their fighters, armsmen strapping themselves into their boarding pods, bomber crews running final diagnostics. The ship had spent its last hour in the Warp preparing for action. Ozpin would have nothing less. He knew very well that this could be a trap. Or, at least, that’s what he told Glynda and the officers, but deep within him he held a secret hope. An imperial ship was a city with engine stacks and lance batteries. If anything could survive two months of fighting, he was certain the _Blooming Rose_ could. It had to. He couldn’t lose another student, another friend.

He caught Glynda’s gaze as she brought her command throne back to its customary place in front of the strategium. He saw sadness there, which he expected, but he saw something else. Pity. He saw pity in her eyes. A cold shock ran through him as he realized exactly who that pity was for. She had heard the hope in his words, and she knew full well it would be dashed. And, if he was honest with himself, so did he.

Ozpin forced such thoughts out of his mind and focused his eyes on the sea of stars spread out before him. He gazed out over the antennae and statuary that decorated the hull of the _Timeless Father_ and out into the silent void where he knew the _Blooming Rose_ lay. They were sister ships. Both born in the Atlesian Shipyards, both festooned with iconography to the Emperor and the Omnissiah, both heavily modified, some might even say into the realm of tech-heresy, and both of them had been in Ozpin’s service for longer than any living man could remember. The _Timeless Father_ was an observer, suited to scouting and skirmishing. The _Blooming Rose_ was a cutting blade. Waiting to fall on the necks of the Imperium’s enemies. They were a pair. One to advise, the other to cut. And he had sent her out alone.

In his heart Ozpin knew that he had sent her to her death.

That didn’t matter now. The _Blooming Rose_ had to be retrieved, information had to be gathered. He had struck and failed, for his next move to succeed he needed more information. He needed to know how this had come to pass. And in the act of searching, he could distract himself.

The deck below him rumbled, breaking his reverie. In front of him he could see engine flares as the _Father_ ’s complement of Furies swept forward, preparing the way for the tugs and boarding craft. He turned from the sight and made his way across the bridge toward the strategium where Huntsmaster Goodwitch was talking quietly with the her second. They were both staring intently at a holographic sphere which displayed two white dots and a host of smaller blue dots. The blue dots were racing out and surrounding the other white dot, subsuming it in a blaze of light and after-images,

“If I was to spring this trap I would wait until we were fully invested in the recovery effort.” The officer said as he stroked his chin. “Perhaps just after we start transferring crew over to the _Rose_.” He stepped forward and gestured to the general absence of dots beyond the two ships and the swarm of interceptors. “But we’re out here in the black, no system, no star, no place to hide.” He turned to the Huntsmaster and drove his point home, “There’s no place to spring a trap _from,_ Huntsmaster. All this caution is costing us time and fuel, we need to get out of here a quickly as possible.”

Glynda leveled her gaze at the man, and he bore it with the stoic look of a man who had seen far worse, which was honestly quite the feat. Not much could top the glare of Huntsmaster Glynda Goodwitch.

“There is a time for caution and a time for action Mr. Ironwood.” She gestured at the obvious emptiness, “I’m quite certain that Summer and her officers saw the same safety and took equally rash actions.” She stroked a few keys on the holoboard and gave Ozpin his first glimpse of the _Blooming Rose_. Outwardly she looked untouched, the only sign of damage was her obvious drifting spin. She was locked in the action of a turn, an attempted dodge perhaps. Or maybe she had been turning to engage. Knowing Summer, she certainly hadn’t been turning to flee. The _Blooming Rose_ was a brawler, a modified Tyrant which boasted a reinforced prow, an Atlesian-pattern plasma reactor, overlapping void-shields, and quick loading macro batteries. She was a voidship that heavily favored melee combat, an oxymoron cast into adamantium and fury.  
“Auspex is reporting boarding torpedoes along her bridge and engine stacks.” Glynda said, gesturing to the relevant areas. “Something struck her when her shields were down and had her crippled and blinded before she could act. We’ve detected no debris or weapon resonance. She never fired a shot.”

Glynda turned back to Ironwood, her mouth set in a grim line, “We will not be making the same mistake, Lieutenant Ironwood. Only fools rush in blind when they could have their eyes open.”

Ironwood opened his mouth to retort, or perhaps defend himself from her obvious insult, but quickly decided that discretion was the better part of valor, instead shunting her attention onto a convenient patsy, namely Ozpin.

Ironwood’s eyes lit with false surprise, “Inquisitor,” he said as he quickly stepped aside and placed Ozpin directly in the path of Glynda’s glare. Ozpin stepped forward and quietly ignored Glynda’s gaze. She respected him, she respected his ability, and, if they were alone, she called him friend, but she did _not_ like to see him on her bridge when she was running an operation. Ozpin’s unquestionable authority as a member of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition meant that he could overrule her and take command of the entire ship at any time, and the ship’s commissars would make short work of any who disagreed. She did not like this. She did not like the implicit threat that was his presence at the ship’s strategium. She did not like the fact that her command could be so easily usurped should he so wish it. She knew he never would, but his mere presence, especially here and especially now, poignantly reminded her of this fact. These were all facts that both he and Ironwood were aware of, and these were facts that Ironwood blatantly abused to duck the admonishment of his superior.

Ozpin admired how quickly and cleanly he had been thrown under the Baneblade.

Ozpin coughed slightly and stepped quickly past the Huntsmaster to regard the holoboard. “I would like Brother-Sergeant Hazel to be in the first wave of boarders.” Having an Astartes among a ship’s complement was a rare thing. There may have been millions of them sprinkled across the rotting hulk that was the Imperium, but given the nature of space and the size of the Imperium, very _very_ few human beings would see one of the Emperor’s Angels in their lifetime, and even fewer would live to tell about it. Brother-Sergeant Hazel was an immensely valuable asset, and his presence aboard the _Timeless Father_ was the result of centuries of favors and politics.

Ozpin was going to make use of him at every opportunity. After all, when you had a hammer in a room full of nails, why wouldn’t you use it?

Ozpin truly hated the idea of Astartes. They were children lured from their homes by promises of glory and immortality. They were brainwashed, they were conditioned, they were broken and rebuilt into something that only resembled a living human. They never grew as normal humans did, they never loved anything beyond what they were conditioned to love, their emotions were dulled and twisted. Their lives were inevitably those of stunted boys who lived through hundreds of years of bloodshed and suffering and never lost their belief in glory and honor. They were a crime against childhood and common humanity. They were monsters.

They were the most useful tool in the imperial arsenal.

Ozpin was, ultimately, a pragmatist. He would do what needed to be done. He would order good men to their deaths if he knew it would save countless others. He would condition children and teach them the lies of glory and sacrifice if he knew that he could save more lives through their actions. He would sanction the use of monsters if he knew they could destroy the greater evils lurking in the dark. As far as Ozpin was concerned morality could only stretch so far when the lives of trillions were on the line.

When duty called Ozpin answered.

He had long ago inured himself to the nightmares that inevitably followed.

Ozpin would place Glynda, his closest living friend and advisor, in a place where she would die hopeless and alone if he knew that the rewards would be greater than the pieces lost. Some would call him a villain for that, and he couldn’t fault them. But those who understood, those who could see the lives that Ozpin held in his hands, those who knew the constant sacrifices that were made to stave off the encroaching dark, they would nod grimly. Ozpin, like so many in this age of pain, was a pragmatist.

He did not like it. And right now, he certainly did not like reaping the rewards that he had so grudgingly sewn. A friend lost, a warrior lost, a valuable asset lost. Each of these things pained Ozpin in a different way. His heart ached and his logical mind cried out that she had been lost for nothing, no gain, no benefit. Only loss. He pushed himself past that. He needed to turn this loss into a gain somehow, he needed her death to mean something.

“I will cross with the second wave.” Ozpin said as he turned to face Glynda’s gaze. “We need to find out how _she_ did this. We need to know if there is a new piece in play, and-”

“Absolutely not.” Glynda stated flatly. “You are far too important to risk crossing into a trap. You can inspect the ship when we’ve gotten it back to Vale.” She crossed her arms in a stance that would brook no argument. Ozpin knew he could easily overrule her, but he decided to try diplomacy first.

“Hazel will secure the bridge.” Ozpin reasoned, “I will wait a suitable amount of time.”

“No.” Glynda repeated. “You are too valuable. And Mr. Ironwood has made an insightful point. Every second we waste here is a chance for our enemy to spring their trap.”

“Glynda, I am more than capable of taking care of myself, and I need to see the bridge before the crew take control of the ship.” Ozpin got the feeling he was arguing with a ferrocrete wall. “I need to feel whatever psychic residue that has been left behind.”

“We have several capable psykers aboard who’s death would not bring this sector crashing down around our ears.” Glynda didn’t raise her voice, she didn’t inject any venom into her words, she simply stated painfully accurate facts. Those facts, however, did not change the fact that Ozpin had made this journey for the sole reason of seeing Summers body as her killers had left it. Glynda knew that, which meant she had been planning to stop him here from the beginning.

She clearly wasn’t going to be reasoned with and, truthfully, he couldn’t sufficiently counter any of her points. “Huntsmaster.” Ozpin gestured made a small gesture to the bridge full of officers and crewmen who were none too subtly listening to their argument. “I will cross.” Behind him he could hear Commissar Adel shift himself meaningfully.

He really hadn’t meant it as a threat, and he certainly hadn’t noticed the proximity of the Commissar. He had only meant to remind her of where they were and who they were. It wasn’t his fault that everyone took it as a threat, if a subtle one.

“If I have to, I will wage bloody civil war to keep you safe Ozpin.” Glynda hissed, far less subtly. Her fingers curled around the shock baton on her hip. He wasn’t surprised. Glynda had never taken well to threats, and her loyalty to him was that strange brand that included blatantly ignoring his orders. Reason wasn’t going to work, and ship wide mutiny was most certainly counter-productive. He had no other recourse.

Ozpin let the pain he felt slip into his eyes as he slumped his shoulders ever so slightly. “Glynda,” he whispered, “I need to see her.” His voice cracked. That certainly wasn’t part of the plan.

Glynda sighed deeply. He hadn’t wanted to play against her soft spots so blatantly. And he definitely hadn’t meant to let a tear slip.

/-/

Ozpin stepped off his transport and out into the newly secured hangar of the _Blooming Rose_. It had been an hour since his conversation with Glynda and the recovery of the _Rose_ had been moving quickly. No survivors had been reported. The ship had been crewed by nearly a quarter of a million people and not a single living soul have been found. In fact, if the body counts were accurate, nearly a hundred thousand of the crew were simply missing. No remains, no sign. They were just gone.

Something strange had happened here.

The hangar was filled with techs and crewmen unloading materials and provisions for the journey back to Vale. Armsmen stood at ease by the exits, the men on the ground had apparently come to the conclusion that the ship was secure, anomalies be damned. Ozpin quickly made his way through the rapidly growing forest of crates and arcane machinery. Hazel was waiting for him on the bridge, no other armsman or tech priest had been allowed in, preserving as much of the scene as possible for Ozpin’s inspection.

The click of his cane was Ozpin’s only companion as he made his way out into the deserted corridor, that and the soft footfalls of the armsmen who had fallen into step a respectful distance behind him. It astounded him that not a single member of his staff, including Glynda, understood that he was, barring Hazel, the single most dangerous individual within several hundred light-years. Perhaps it was because he was an old man, perhaps it was because none of them had ever seen him fight. It didn’t really matter, because the end result was him crammed in a turbo lift with an astounding _six_ guards, as if there was a strike team of assassins waiting for him in the elevator shaft.

Ozpin and his ducklings spent the lift ride in relative silence, only breathing and the occasional dull clink of flak armor reminded him of their presence, that, and how uncomfortably close they were to him. The heat was almost unbearable by the time the lift reached the bridge. Ozpin stepped forth with a great breath of relief, only to inhale the cloying rot of death.

An abattoir greeted him as he strode out onto the bridge. His guards, less accustomed to the scent of death, huddled near the elevator in what they no doubt hoped was a professional manner. At the center of the bridge, in the depressed pit that housed the strategium, stood Hazel, like an actor at the end of a particularly gruesome play, he gazed out over the mangled stations and into the rotted eyes of the corpses that were his audience. Ozpin noted that his feet were not visible but were rather completely covered by a dark pool of liquid that had collected in the strategium pit.

“It’s mostly water.” Hazel said in response to Ozpin’s unspoken question, “And no. I don’t know why it’s mostly water.” He said in response to Ozpin’s second unspoken question. Hazel was a man of few words, but those he said seemed to be almost prescient, or perhaps the questions on Ozpin’s mind were all too obvious.

“Enemy casualties?” Ozpin said, trying desperately not to gag. One never got truly used to the smell.

“None.” Hazel reported, “All bodies bear imperial ID and verify with the crew manifests and ships logs.” Hazel was very good at what he did and being the second to an Inquisitor for nearly 50 years meant that he had a very good idea of what Ozpin was looking for.

Ozpin walked slowly around the perimeter of the bridge and took it in.

It was composed of several concentric rings of stations and consoles all facing inward toward the captain’s strategium, on a balcony set above the main bridge sat the helmsman’s station and the typical resting point for the captain’s chair. The chair itself hung limply from its hydraulic arm in front of the strategium. Several consoles looked melted, others were crushed, and some had been sliced completely in two. Ozpin noted holes from gunfire, and the fact that many of the corpses were lacking up to half of their intended biomass.

Hm. Gunfire. Imperial standard was the lasgun, this held true for both void and ground forces. It was simply impossible to supply the numberless legions of the Guard and their voidbound brothers in the Navy with traditional slug-based rounds.

Whoever had been shooting certainly hadn’t been imperial standard. Astartes perhaps? That would certainly explain the death toll and the lack of enemy casualties. But that didn’t explain why they left the _Blooming Rose_ to drift in space. A Tyrant was a valuable warship, something the traitors and Salem were always hungry for.

“Bolt rounds?” he called down to Hazel.

“No.” Hazel called back. Getting conjecture out of the Space Marine was like drawing water from a stone. Not impossible, but certainly not worth the effort.

Ozpin stopped and gazed down toward the holotable. It was covered in lasburns. Whatever had happened the enemy had been in the center of the bridge, and not at all inconvenienced by the fact.

And the pool of water and blood. Where had that come from? There weren’t any water sources near the bridge large enough for a pool nearly a foot deep. Dust perhaps? He knew that Jacques’ eldest daughter had inherited the family Semblance, which might explain a large quantity of water where water had no business being. Except for the fact that the Schnee family were firmly ensconced on Atlas and had been since Winter’s birth. That meant it had to be something else. He would have to collect a sample, and have it analyzed upon his return to Vale. Until then he had a much more pressing matter.

He slowly negotiated his way to the edge of the blood pit; he half expected a skull to bob to the surface as he stood primly above the stagnant pool.

“Where is her body?” Ozpin asked. He didn’t need to specify; Hazel knew exactly why they were here.

“Don’t know.” Hazel approximated a shrug inside his grey power armor.

With any other person Ozpin would have asked probing questions. But an answer like that from Hazel meant that the Astartes had exhausted every possible option available to him and come up with nothing. Hazel was nothing if not achingly thorough.

Hazel gestured to the surrounding corpses, “None of them lived long enough to see the end of the fight.”

“From what I can tell, something breached the bridge, it moved faster than most of the crew could see. I think it was an Eversor.” Hazel grunted and gestured to the mangled corpse of an armsman, “The last man alive saw something else, but he didn’t live long enough to figure it out.” With that Hazel returned to contemplative silence.

An Eversor? An imperial assassin? Had this been a move from a rival Inquisitor? Is that why Summer had let her guard down? That didn’t make any sense, Ozpin was aware of every Inquisitor in the sector, and the majority of them were his own Huntsmen. A death cult maybe? A Daemon? Nothing made sense. It was impossible for the Eversor to be anything other than an imperial assassin; the alternative was unthinkable. If there was an Eversor arrayed against him Ozpin had much greater concerns than the loss of a Hunter and her crew.

The Eversor branch of the Officio Assassinorum subscribed to the philosophy of, ‘No one can notice if there is no one to notice.’ They were destroyers. Drugged psychopaths that were kept in cryo-sleep until they were needed. Programmed with hypnotherapy and bionically enhanced, Eversors were not capable of higher thought, they simply killed what the voices in their head ordered and ignored all else, and typically the voices only said ‘everyone.’ Eversors were only unchained when the Assassins wanted to send a message. A violent, unmistakable message. In the close confines of a voidship regular humans never stood a chance.

“Eversors don’t take prisoners.” Ozpin said, looking at the charnel house the ships bridge had become.

“Don’t take bodies either.” Hazel noted from his place in the blood pit, he hadn’t moved since Ozpin had entered, he likely hadn’t moved since he’d concluded his investigation.

Ozpin was quite thankful that he hadn’t been present for Hazel’s investigation. When little boys were taken and broken into what would become an Astartes they were implanted with several additional organs to better suit them to a lifetime of warfare. One of these was the omophagea. It allowed Astartes to consume the brain matter of sapient beings and relive their last few moments. From the sound of things Hazel had sampled every brain in the bridge. Normally Astartes were timid when it came to blatant cannibalism, but Hazel and his brothers in the Grey Wardens were nothing if not brutally pragmatic.

They suited Ozpin nicely.

“This other thing.” Ozpin said from the edge of the blood pit, it rippled as Hazel turned to regard him. The slow ripples were… Unpleasant.

“The anomaly, I expect.” The Space Marine said. “It was a flash of white light. After it cleared nearly half of the crew on the bridge were gone.”

“Was Summer still on board?” Ozpin asked. Perhaps this was an explanation, but the pieces simply didn’t add up; a surgical strike by an assassin, a mass teleport, a valuable ship left tumbling in the black. But why? Why so many? Why then? Why here? Why her?

He was missing something.

“He didn’t live long enough to turn around.” Hazel gestured to the rotting bullet hole in the troopers back.

“So, there’s no sign of where she is then. None at all?” Ozpin knew that Hazel had already told him as much, but he couldn’t stop the question as it flew out of his mouth.

“There is something.” Hazel stumped across the pool and reached into its murky depths. He pulled out a hunk of twisted and blackened metal.

“It’s a scythe.” Ozpin looked at the pitiful specimen that Hazel held before him. He knew exactly what it was. It had been cast from the purest adamantine, it had held one of the most advanced microfusion reactors ever devised by the Mechanicus, it had been a perfect weapon.

“It’s her scythe.” Hazel confirmed. “It looks like it’s internal reactor went through melt down.” Hazel walked to the edge of the pool and passed the hunk of blackened metal over to Ozpin.

“If that were the case then even this shouldn’t remain.” Ozpin held her broken weapon in his hands as if it were a particularly agitated snake. It felt strange. It felt wrong.

Hazel approximated a shrug.

A brutal attack, an improbable teleportation, and a weapon that reeked of wrongness in his hands.

Something impossible had happened here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be known that everything that is said in this chapter is painstakingly deliberate.
> 
> Chapter 5 will see us on the other end of a timeskip with the main plot of RWBY taking off
> 
> Beta notes; I would like to take credit for eight commas in this chapter.


	4. The Second Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaune makes his way into Beacon. Ruby makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey it's me, back at it again with a late night (for me) update. I've finally got the WHOLE plot worked out, and just to let you know this is probably going to be a lancaster fic. I'll update the tags once I've locked it in.

Jaune liked the rear decks of the troopship. They were devoid of people, or at least, people who cared about him. The rear decks were the realm of the _Second Son_ 's crew, and, as he had quickly learned, professional sailors tended to view the troops they were carrying as a particularly uppity form of cargo, and usually treated him as one would treat a box that was polite enough to step out of the way.

Jaune liked this arrangement just fine, because if they weren't talking to him then they weren't asking him why he was a shade of green more commonly associated with trees, and if they weren't talking to him then he didn't have to open his mouth to answer them, which was honestly probably the best outcome for everyone involved. And so there he stood, clinging grimly to the guide rails of a dull steel corridor and trying desperately to focus on anything other than the coup his stomach was no doubt arranging for his brain for bringing them onto this Emperor forsaken warpship.

He counted the rivets along the wall with the determination of a drowning man. He knew that if he stopped counting, opened his mouth, or even so much as thought the word 'vomit' he would-

Oh.

Jaune sprinted down the hallway toward the wide chamber at the end. Well, perhaps wide was an understatement, the 'room', if you could call it that, was cavernous. It was a massive open space that was filled primarily with darkness. It yawned out above and below him, stretching deep into the guts of the ship. Jaune was certain that this colossal emptiness was somehow integral to the running of the ship. But its greater purpose didn't really matter to him right now, because across the center of this great abyss was a little gangway with a guard rail, it was to this Jaune sprinted. He barely made it to the rail before acid and bile pushed itself past his teeth and flew out into the great darkness below him.

This was hardly the first time he vomited into this pit and no one had come to stop him, so he was quite certain this wouldn't be his last.

This really wasn't how he had pictured life in the Imperial Guard. Honestly, four weeks of constant nausea and grueling physical conditioning wasn't at all where he saw himself when the recruiters had come through Ansel Colony. He had dreamed of being a hero like his father, he had dreamed of leading a glorious charge and standing heroically atop a mound of defeated orks.

He had dreamed of being something greater than a farmer like the rest of his family.

His time aboard the _Second Son_ had certainly disabused him of any notions of glory and heroism, and as of this moment the only charges he had led had been to the nearest vac-tube or, more recently, this convenient abyss.

His time in training hadn't gone at all like his fantasies. He woke up far too early every day in more pain than he had ever felt in his life. He dragged himself through morning PT and reluctantly ate all the food he was given in the mess. He had learned early on that not eating in order to lessen his sickness had only resulted in the most inane and cruel punishments his drillmaster could devise. And so, with a fully loaded stomach he struggled through the rest of the day, fighting constant nausea, and far more literally fighting his fellow guardsmen, who weren't at all pleased with the vomit covered deadweight that they had to drag through drills.

None of this was Jaune's fault. This was all the fault of the stupid warp sickness.

Who thought it was a good idea to train fresh recruits in the frakking **Warp** anyway? Everyone knew that the Warp gave you nightmares and made you sick. How was that an ideal place to put people though intense conditioning and training? Who sat down and thought 'Yeah, the realm of perpetual nausea and nightmares is the best place to serve muscle-building meals and subject people to pain and terror'?

The Warp was stupid. The Guard was stupid. This ship was stupid. It was all stupid.

But Jaune, Jaune wasn't stupid.

He could see the way things were going. There were two weeks of training left before they were deployed to the front, and Jaune was certain that his drillmaster was quietly encouraging his fellow soldiers to administer a very final corrective measure. Jaune wasn't blind, the other recruits didn't have faith in him, the veterans didn't have faith in him, even the commissars could come up with any encouraging words, and everyone knew that faith and firepower were the only things a guardsman could depend on in the field, and Jaune knew that right now he was bringing neither. And while none of that was _his fault_ , no one else saw it that way.

So Jaune had taken some preventative measures.

Now the commissars would probably use words like, 'desertion' or, 'faithlessly abandoning your duty to the Emperor' depending on how wordy they felt before they pulled the trigger, but Jaune preferred to think of it as 'creative reassignment.' After all, he wasn't deserting per se, he was just avoiding a painful death at the hands of his fellow soldiers.

His constant sickness hadn't been a complete negative, in fact, his sickness had given him the perfect escape from the likely death it had earned him.

Jaune tried not to think about it.

He had been assigned light duties that conveniently got his vomit as far from the regiment as physically possible. This meant that he was often shuttling paperwork back and forth between the officers of the regiment and the officers of the _Second Son_. Which meant that sometimes he was in rooms filled with cogitators all by himself. _Important_ cogitators. And, really, what was one more set of transfer orders? What was one misspelling from Bescon to Beacon? What was one bored stamp of approval on said transfer orders? Well, to Jaune, they were everything. The next place the _Second Son_ was coming out of Warp was Vale station, and apparently there was a major military staging ground called Beacon there, which was all the excuse that Jaune needed to get off the _Second Son_ as soon as possible.

He wondered why all the intake forms for the Beacon Staging Ground referred to new recruits as initiates.

It probably didn't matter.

/-/

Vale Station was _huge_. Like, really huge. If Ruby didn't know better, she would say that she was on a planet somewhere. The hallways were so wide that people were _driving_ down them. Like, driving cars. As in wide things with four wheels. On a _space station_.

Vale was nothing like Patch, and she had known that intellectually, but it was only after she and Yang had stepped off their transport that she began to understand what the word 'huge' meant. She didn't realize that huge meant that there would be stuff flying _inside_ the station. She didn't realize that huge meant that she would see more people on the docks alone than she had ever seen before in her life, and she didn't realize that huge would mean that she would see more hardware than she had ever even dreamed of.

Well, she had probably dreamed of this much gear, but not in any dream she'd admit to having.

She saw columns of soldiers marching in step with their lasrifles shining. She saw tanks being carried on the beds of massive trucks; she even saw a cluster of red-robed techpriests carrying all sorts of arcane looking weaponry. And she could swear she had seen the silhouette of an imperial knight being moved into a warehouse.

An _imperial knight_! How was that not cool? Most people didn't see one of those in their entire life, and she was, like, seventy percent certain she had seen one. Sure, it was far away, but how could anyone mistake that hunched figure? That massive cannon? and that frankly _insane_ giant sword? Maybe there was an entire household of knights? Maybe she would meet them? Maybe they were going to Beacon? Maybe they would let her _drive the knight?_

Vale was awesome.

While Ruby stood there, locked deeply inside her fantasy of big guns and even bigger mechs, crowds of people flowed around her. There were the whites of Schnee merchantmen on leave, the blacks of sailors loading their ships with supplies and munitions, the greens of marching guardsmen, and most of all there were the grey uniforms of students. Two days from now was the initiation trial for the Schola Venatus, which meant that the Vale docks were absolutely flooded with prospective students.

It was an open secret that anyone who was allowed to take the initiation trial had already been fully accepted into the Schola. Everyone knew that the trial was more a chance to show off your skills and give the teachers a chance to evaluate the skill level of each incoming class. Everyone knew this because the Schola initiation trial was a festival day for Vale and its dependent stations and colonies. Every year Lisa Lavender would come on the Holovid and announce the initiation, and the people of Vale would hold great feasts and games in honor of the next generation of leaders. Or at least, that was the official reason. In reality, most people were celebrating a day off of work.

Of course everything was different this year, the Schola had been moved to a new location that was so far being kept secret, and the only thing people knew was that the new location was called 'Beacon' and that the whole school had been moved off of Vale station. The excitement and curiosity among the throng of students was palpable. Tomorrow was going to be the big reveal, and with the impending reveal speculation was reaching a fever pitch.

None of that really affected Ruby though, sure she was curious, but she wasn't going to the Schola for another two years. What did affect her, however, was the fact that while she had been gazing longingly toward the warehouse that definitely had a knight in it, her darling sister, who she loved most in this world, had totally ditched her.

Of course, Yang had run off the moment Ruby looked away. Though she did have vague memories of someone shaking her shoulder and saying stuff but, even if that had been Yang, her sister should have known what seeing all of this would do to Ruby. So, Yang had ditched her. In the middle of the docks. Surrounded by a quite literal army's worth of hardware, and probably an imperial knight.

Huh.

So here she was.

Alone.

Unsupervised.

Oh yeah, Vale was awesome.

/-/

This was supposed to be a simple job. Not an easy job, sure, but it certainly wasn't supposed to be this complicated. The premise was simple; get in, load the thing up, get out. He didn't even have to do any of the heavy lifting, all he had to do was make sure that the idiots she had forced him to hire didn't bumble themselves into the nearest Arbites station. He was certain he could have pulled this off on his own, but no, he couldn't bring Neo, he couldn't bring his own crew, he had to use hired help, he had to keep a low profile.

It was hard to keep a low bloody profile when you were boosting an imperial bloody knight. But did she care about the details? No. All she wanted was results. Well if there was one thing Roman had learned in his long career of professional bastardry, it was 'If you frak the details, you frak yourself.' And the details so far were; a gaggle of incompetents, four dead cog-boys, six dead guards, a scythe through the middle of his truck's engine block, a teenager glaring at him through the windshield, and his hole card off doing Throne knows what.

Oh, and he was wearing overalls.

This was not a good day for Roman Torchwick.

It was supposed to be a once in a lifetime score. And it had been. Until this little brat had decided to frak the whole job.

"I don't suppose you're here about that rattle?" Roman said from behind the steering wheel as he reached for his cane. The brat just glared at him while she worked her scythe out of the truck. Kids these days, no appreciation for the finer aspects of banter in combat. Truly the youth was in disgrace. His hand reached his cane just as the girl worked her scythe free, leaving a massive bloody rent in the middle of the hood.

That had potential.

Never let it be said that Roman had survived this long by taking the sane bet. If he gunned the engine right now either the truck might explode, or a very satisfying burst of steam would nail this little nuisance right between the eyes. And seeing the look on her face would be oh so very worth it.

Roman gunned the engine and rolled out the driver side door, cane in hand. The brat did a fancy little kickflip off of the hood as the engine did exactly nothing. Which was honestly a little disappointing, couldn't it have at least growled or roared or something? Did no one hold drama sacred these days? What was the point of being the flashiest thief in Vale if no one was willing to cooperate?

Roman ran deeper into the warehouse where the rest of his mooks were still picking themselves up from the girl's ambush. At least she had some though the ducts, that had the bare minimum of flair he would expect to interrupt a job of this magnitude. Speaking of flair, this heist was on its fifth minute of uptime, which meant that some narc had no doubt reported gunfire coming from the dockside warehouses. If things had been going to plan Roman would be driving a suspiciously lumpy, but perfectly legitimate, truck load of stuff to the drop off. But now here he was, locked down by some wannabe Sister of Battle in a corset. It was time to go, and to trim the fat while he was at it. After all, no one paid dead men.

"Three hundred thrones to the man that brings me her stupid red cape!" Roman shouted as he loaded Melodic Cudgel with an Astartes-Pattern bolt round, which wasn't cheap by the way. The mooks looked apprehensive, which was not a good sign. If they didn't distract her, he wouldn't have time to bug out. This called for motivation.

"You're going to run from some little girl just because she got the drop on you?" He shouted as he took aim, "Did I hire guardsmen? Should I have brought a commissar?" Appeal to stupidity and masculinity, make them look bad in front of each other. It was never going to convince men to charge into gunfire, but it would make them get between him and a fifteen-year-old, which was all he really needed. He had seen the moves she had pulled, and, more importantly, he didn't have time to frak around. The girl was closing in fast, Roman took lazy aim and fired a single shot, you didn't really have to hit with bolt rounds, you just had to get within a mile or so of your target and they took care of the rest. The shell exploded by her feet and made her stumble over the crater it left behind. 'Look!' that stumble seemed to say, 'I'm a little girl, surely I'm no threat to you big strong men!' At least, that's what Roman hoped it said as the goons closed ranks and charged forward.

He wasn't going to stick around to see if that stumble had been sarcastic or not.

Roman was no slouch, he may not have had aura like the high and mighty in their golden towers, but what he did have was skill. Skill and speed. And right now, he was pushing at least one of those to its absolute limit as he sprinted toward the service entrance at the back of the warehouse. Just to make it clear, he wasn't a coward, and he wasn't weak, he just didn't have time to babysit her while the Arbites decided how best to commit a war crime on some perfectly innocent thieves. And he _really_ didn't have time to stick around and wait for what that knight's pilot was going to do him for killing his pit crew and boosting his stupid looking ride. Honestly, why did everyone in this stupid galaxy use melee weapons when lance batteries were available? Why even let the enemy _see you_ if you had the power to frakking annihilate them from the next planet over? Roman was quite certain that everyone in charge simply had their heads so deeply up their behinds that they were approaching a recursion of idiocy.

Speaking of idiocy, what genius decided to lock the door? Why would they do that? Who would a lock keep out? Not the Arbites, certainly not him, and definitely not anyone who worked here. Roman's opinion of locks was already quite low, but it practically crashed through the floor as he struggled with the doorknob.

Speaking of crashing, it was awfully quiet behind him.

Roman turned around and appraised the situation. One insanely acrobatic girl with the dumbest weapon he had ever seen? Check. Ten goons groaning on the floor? Check. Great. She was one of those 'doesn't take a life', types, that was annoying, because it meant these guys were going to live long enough to squeal. Really it would be a mercy to put them out of their misery. Both for him and them.

And Roman was nothing if not a compassionate man. Sadly, he didn't think he had the time. He had already gone through plans A, B, and C. If you could call them plans, since they mostly amounted to 'steal stuff and run.' Well it was time for plan D. He was certain he wasn't going to like the outcome.

/-/

To say that checking out the knight hadn't gone to plan would be a bit of an understatement. She had really just gone in for a peek, honest. And now here she was facing down some guy with a cane. A cane that shot bolt rounds. Which was pretty cool-

No. She had to focus, she had to stop him.

Ruby swung her scythe out to the side and dashed forward, forcing him to dodge to the right if he didn't want to take the business end of Crescent Rose to the face. He dodged, moving away from the door, now his only way out were the main warehouse doors, which were still firmly shut. He back pedaled away, giving up completely on the door. She couldn't let him gain distance. If he had distance, he had the advantage. She hadn't thought to bring her sidearm with her, and honestly, she hadn't thought she had needed it. This was just supposed to be a send-off for Yang, she wasn't supposed to be Crime-Buster Ruby, detective and martial arts master.

She darted forward again, she had to keep him on the back foot, she had to keep him reacting, she knew that if she lost the initiative, he could turn this whole fight on her. If he was interested in fighting that is. He ducked her again and ran, this time hiding behind the flatbed he and his goons had been trying to load the knight on to.

"Hey! listen Red!" he called from the other side of the truck as she leapt over the truck to catch him. He wasn't there.

"How about a truce?" said a voice from behind her. Ruby whipped around and saw him standing on the bed of the truck. She growled and readied her scythe.

"Wait wait wait!" he set his cane to the side and held his hands up, she could see a small black box in his right hand.

"Let's talk about this," he said as he wiggled the black thing in his hand. Ruby scoffed and took a step forward.

"Ah ah ah, Red." He said, waggling the box in his hand. "This is a dead man's trigger, if I drop it this truck and the knight are up in smoke." Ruby paused, that wasn't good, she didn't want to be responsible for the destruction of a venerated mech that was probably older than this station was. Also, she didn't want to die. Was it weird that she thought of that second? Probably.

"Very good!" Overalls Guy said, "Now how about this, you go back to whatever sex convention you're here for and I go home to my loving wife and children?"

What? Sex convention? A family? Ruby's mind raced, she had to isolate important information. He had a bomb, he was unarmed-

"Maybe I could go with you to the sex convention? We could get a little _pick-me-up_ on the way if you're down for that sort of thing, in fact I know a guy right here in the _warehouse_ \- "

"Shut up!" Ruby shouted, she needed to think, she needed him to stop talking, he just kept saying words and she kept listening, it was making coming up with a plan really difficult.

"Oh, she speaks!" He said, words were coming out of his mouth faster than she thought humanly possible, and she had heard herself talk about weaponry. No. this wasn't the time. She had to discipline her thoughts.

"I said shut up!" Ruby roared, she dashed forward, she'd just have to rely on her speed to snatch the detonator from him.

He moved faster than she thought a standard human could. Before her foot hit the ground, he had already grabbed his cane and rolled off of the truck, by the time she had taken two steps he was already up and running for the warehouse doors. He cracked doors cracked open just wide enough for him to slip out with her on his tail. How was he so fast? How was he so strong? The academics of it really didn't matter at the moment, that he was fast and strong should be the end of it, but Ruby couldn't keep the curious thoughts from creeping across her mind.

They burst out onto the docks.

They were deserted.

They were deserted? Why were the docks deserted? An hour ago, this stretch of the docks had been brimming with life, and now the only living people here were her and Overalls Guy. Well, them and the Bullhead that was tearing full speed down the length of the docks. Which probably wasn't good. That got confirmed when the thief surged ahead of her and started racing down the docks.

"Looks like my ride is here Red!" He called over his shoulder as he sprinted.

He wasn't going to get away that easily. Ruby leapt forward and _slipped_ through the air. She had never really been able to explain her Semblance. One moment she was in one place and the next she was in another. She wasn't teleporting, she didn't think, she had seen teleportation on her dad's old war holovids, and that had always involved lightning and sound. For her she was in one place and then not. It wasn't speed, she didn't experience anything, though she did always come out at great speed. Which was something Mouthy Overalls Guy experienced first hand as she slammed into his back at near terminal velocity.

She really needed to learn his name.

As she tackled him to the ground the little black box went flying from his hand. She braced, expecting to feel an explosion behind her. Instead of that all she felt was him wiggling out from under her. Him escaping wasn't surprising, she was a ninety-five-pound teenager and he was a full-grown man who was capable of some surprising feats of strength. Ruby took a second look at the dead man's trigger.

"A vox-hailer?" She said, quickly realizing _exactly_ what had just happened.

In front of her the Bullhead executed a perfect combat brake and pulled in close to her and the Lying-Tricky-Unreasonably-Strong-Overalls-Thief. Hm. That was going to get confusing, it made it sound like he was stealing overalls, which in fairness he probably was.

"Who _are_ you!?" She called as he leapt into the Bullheads open crew compartment, though he probably couldn't hear her over the scream of the engines.

"I should be asking you the same thing." Said a voice from behind her. Ruby whipped around and stared into the glare of one of the most recognizable Huntresses in the whole sector.

Uh oh.

/-/

Jaune stepped off of his transport and into the frankly massive space that was _Beacon_ Starboard Hanger 5A. It had honestly been extremely easy to make his escape from the regiment. All he had done was show the flight master his papers and the ships officers took care of the rest, and since the regiment's officers and the ship's officers communicated almost exclusively through memos written and transported by him it had been child's play to alter a few words and lose a few papers. So now here he was, in his freshly cleaned flak armor with his kitbag over his shoulder and his regulation lasrifle over the other. In his pocket he had the transfer orders that named him a full initiate of Beacon at the recommendation of Colonel Constantine Able, Jaune had gotten the name from some old training vids, he was apparently a very respected and very retired Guard officer. Jaune had even traced his signature from an old memo in the ship's cogitators. Everything was going to plan.

Or it would be if he hadn't been the only person in the whole frakking hangar in regulation flak armor with a regulation lasrifle. All around him were people in dress grays, each slightly modified to fit each individuals taste, and each person was carrying weapons he hadn't ever _dreamed of_. One girl had a rapier on her hip, another had a spear and shield, and that girl had a whole frakking hammer on her back.

Jaune walked forward in a daze. Not only was Beacon Staging Ground apparently _Beacon_ the insanely large warpship, it was an officer's school. If the insignia on all the people around him were any hint. But at this point Jaune was seriously doubting his mental faculties, because if they were correct, he had gotten himself enrolled into an officer's academy on board of a functioning warpship. Both of which were very bad things, especially when every single thing about him screamed Guardsman. He hadn't even graduated basic! And here he was with papers proudly stating that he was ready for OCS. Not good.

His eyes scanned the hanger for anyone else in regulation green, or at least anyone not in officer's gray. He saw one person, one singular person. A girl in a red cape and a corset. Clearly, she belonged here just as much as he did. Jaune quickly picked his way through the throngs of disembarking initiates and made his way toward the lonely girl, who looked like she was staring as much as he had been a moment ago.

He walked up behind her and set his kit bag down with a soft clunk, a subtle way of letting her know he was there. If his sisters had taught him anything it was that you never snuck up on a girl in public, that way held nothing but disaster. She didn't react to the sound in the slightest. Jaune cleared his throat, it was always best to be polite when meeting new people. Sure, confidence was key, but Jaune liked to think that confidence only came after they showed they were willing to talk to you.

She didn't respond.

Okay, maybe she was hard of hearing.

"Hello?" Jaune said a little loudly. The hangar was loud, it made sense that she hadn't heard him before. She still didn't respond.

She was just staring off into the distance. Was she deaf? He had met a few veterans who had lost their hearing from all their time around loud engines and lasfire, maybe she was the same. Though she was a little young for that. He reached out and tapped her shoulder.

She yelped and whipped around faster than he had thought humanly possible. He gave a little wave.

"Hi." He said.

"Hi." She said.

Well this wasn't going according to plan.

"I'm Jaune." He said.

"I'm Ruby." She said

What was the plan again? Right. Confidence.

"I'm a transfer student." He said

"Oh, I'm a new student." She said.

When had talking to people gotten this hard? Were there some fancy words he was supposed to say to initiate a conversation? How did fancy people work? How did officers work? Oh! He knew how to interact with officers!

Jaune unslung his lasrifle and fell into parade rest, presenting his weapon for inspection. That seemed to get her attention, she reached forward and took the weapon from his hand. This was good, this was probably normal. She hefted the weapon and looked at him.

"Is this an Atlas-pattern M3 Boarder's Rifle?" she asked, her voice was full of excitement. That was good, excitement was good, but most importantly he knew the answer.

"Yes ma'am." He said. This was going great!

"So, you're trained in close combat? What's your melee weapon?" She was excited, practically vibrating with anticipation. He drew is bayonet and offered it for her inspection.

"This is a knife?" She said, confusion filling her voice.

"It's a bayonet," he said, "Hand them here and I'll show you." This was standard drill stuff, he just had to demonstrate that he was smart enough to know which end was the pointy one. With quick and practiced movements, he hefted the lasrifle and locked the bayonet into place.

"But isn't that just a knife on a gun?" She said, still confused.

"Well yeah, but now I can thrust instead of slash." He said, attempting to clarify the confusion.

She pulled a staff from her back. It had a piece of shining metal embedded at its head; she pushed a button.

"See, this can be an axe, scythe or spear," she pressed the button again, rotating the blade through its three positions, "And she has a powered blade, so she can cut through pretty much anything!" She gestured to his lasrifle, "What can yours do?"

"It can, uh," he unfixed and refixed the bayonet, "do that." He thought for a moment.

"Oh! And it can switch between semi and full auto! And I can decide the charge of each shot!"

She looked less than impressed.

"So, it's just a gun with a knife on it?"

"…Yeah it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on getting the plot rolling. You might notice that my style is a bit different, and that's because these first few arcs will be, at their core, light hearted. I'm really working on picking up the pace, I think my problem is that I get caught up in the characters heads so much that I forget to move the damn plot along.
> 
> Hopefully I'll see you guys sometime next week, I'm a teacher so I've got winter break coming up, who knows how much I'll get done.
> 
> No promises.


	5. Convocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weiss and Pyrrha are introduced. Professor Port has a new job. Qrow begins the first side-plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays guys! I've got a lot of free time at the moment, which means I can really focus on A Grimm Future. So you might get another chapter or two this week, to make up for the two months where I went dark.
> 
> Big shout out to my Beta Readers: Celebreth and Taking it Easy. They are truly mighty slayers of strange and mindless formatting. Now that I've got both of them trapped in the editing basement you guys can expect fewer run-ons and inane commas.

"For we all walk in His immortal shadow!" Passion infused the priest's voice as he slammed his hands down onto the pulpit. He was reaching the apex of his sermon. "It is only through His eternal sacrifice, through His unfaltering Light, through the wonders of His many miracles, that Mankind endures!" The priest raised his hands and regarded the vast congregation before him, "We stand upon the blood of martyrs! We walk in the light of their sacred gaze! And it is unto you that the mantle has fallen! It is unto you that sacrifice has come! It is unto you that duty calls! Remember this in your darkest hours! He has chosen you! He has called to you! Through you He will bring our salvation! Through you His Will shall endure!" His voice thundered as he lowered his hands back to the pulpit. "Libera Nos!" He boomed.

"Libera Nos." Weiss dutifully recited as the sermon drew to a close. She had seen a hundred like it and she was quite certain she would see a hundred more. She understood very well the nature of the universe and mankind's place in it, she understood that none of what is would be possible without the sacrifices of the Emperor and His Sons. She understood this because when one was in a position such as hers, one could never miss a day of prayer, one could never miss a feast day, one could never miss a late-night mass. One could never miss something as simple as a bishop's birthday. For to do so would be to invite charges of heresy from the unwashed masses and suspicion from her peers.

She hated it.

Not to get things confused, she devoutly believed in the Emperor, she had no reason to doubt. There were real tangible signs of His works all around her, it was His Church that she didn't like. Especially when she knew it for the corrupt cancer that it was. Father paid the right holy man and suddenly the Ecclesiarchy wasn't at all interested in where he was getting his Dust from. Father paid another man and suddenly there were calls for a crusade across the subsector, conveniently when orkish incursions threatened Schnee interests. Sure, such payments were disguised as charitable donations to the church, but somehow the money always found itself in the pockets of the priests, rather than in the mouths of the poor.

She loved the Emperor, but she despised His Church.

The crowd of students around her began to rustle as the priest stepped down from the pulpit and a new man took his place. He was an old man, wearing the traditional black overcoat of the Imperial Inquisition, at his side was a silver topped cane made from some sort of dark wood. Weiss thought the silver of his buttons and hair offset the ensemble quite nicely, though she couldn't help but notice the heavy bags beneath the man's eyes.

"Thank you, Confessor Port." He said quietly into the microphone. "The Confessor will be available at all hours during Warp, and during the day and evening cycles at all other times." His voice was slow, he was enunciating every word and giving each its own time to resonate across the audience. Many would see that as a tactic to add gravitas and capture the attention of the audience, but to Weiss the man's speech seemed heavy with exhaustion.

"I am Inquisitor Ozpin, the Headmaster of this branch of the Schola Venatus." He said carefully. "You have come here today seeking insight. You have come seeking strength." Ozpin paused, allowing his words to sink into his audience. "Blessed is the mind too small to doubt." His voice was heavy as it reverberated across the chapel the initiates had gathered in. "And an open mind is as a fortress with its gates open and unguarded. These are the precepts of the Inquisition, and these are the ideals of Astra Militarum." He gazed across the sea of gray-clad students. "Here aboard the _Beacon_ we will provide you with the most dangerous weapon in the arsenal of Mankind. Knowledge." Ozpin was warming up now, passion leaked into his words. "You are the leaders of tomorrow. You will be those who bear a flame against the encroaching darkness, and you will bear the greatest curse ever given to Mankind." He paused.

"Knowledge."

"Here you will learn the nature of our Imperium, here you will learn the secrets of our enemies, and here you will learn that knowledge is a heavy burden. One that only the strongest are fit to bear. It is up to you to shoulder this mantle. It is up to you to shield Mankind from the curse of knowledge. This is the price of strength. This is the price of power. And when I am gone, it will be up to you to pass this curse on to the next generation. This is the price you will pay."

Speech completed, Ozpin stepped down from the pulpit and a woman took his place. She was blonde and dressed in the severe attire of the Imperial Navy, her piercing green eyes seemed to stare directly into Weiss' soul.

"I am Huntsmaster Glynda Goodwitch. I will conduct flight and combat drills. You will be staying here in the chapel until initiation has been completed, food, bedding, and guides will be provided. Dorms will be assigned tomorrow." With that the Huntsmaster left the stage, leaving the students to their own devices. She didn't mince words. Weiss liked that. It was refreshing to see someone getting directly to the point. It was nice to know that she would be educated by competent individuals rather than some fools who had bought their positions.

"So did that speech freak anyone else out?" said some fool behind her. Weiss decided to be the bigger person and ignore him. After all, if he wanted to dig his own grave, who was she to stop him?

"It's just… that guy was really creepy." The voice continued, apparently bereft of any survival instincts. "And what's with all this curse stuff? Isn't knowledge an inherently good thing?"

Don't get involved Weiss. He's not your problem. He's not your problem and you shouldn't make him your problem.

"And what's this about knowledge being some big secret? If we know something, shouldn't everyone be able to know it? Shouldn't knowledge be free to everyone?" With every word that voice grated her nerves, enough was enough.

Weiss spun around to give the brainless idiot a piece of her mind, because he clearly needed it. To her credit, she only slowed down a little when she saw that the speaker was a blonde boy in guardsman fatigues.

"How impossibly dense can you be!?" She half-shouted as she strode up to him. "Do you honestly think that the _people_ can be trusted with half of what we are going to learn here?!" Weiss, for one, was thankful that much of the Imperium was illiterate, or at least unable to read High Gothic. Leave thinking to those who are trained to do so. Leave knowledge in the hands of those who were prepared to hold it. "You think that we aren't here because we are leagues more prepared than the commoners? You think that all of our mental and physical training has nothing to do with what we are about to learn?"

He was silent, cowed. Good. Maybe he had learned something. Honestly, why would they let a _guardsman_ into the Schola? Maybe the administration wasn't as competent as she believed. Lesson delivered Weiss turned to return to her place, but a feminine voice piped up before she could.

"You honestly believe that?" The girl standing next to the guardsman said. She was young, probably the youngest person in the room, and not even in uniform. Were they just letting _anyone_ into the Schola? Maybe Weiss had chosen her place of education poorly.

"You honestly believe that we're so far beyond everyone else? That we _deserve_ to know more than the common person?"

Yes? How was that even a question? Weiss took a deep breath, the girl was young, Weiss could be patient with her.

"What is your name?" Weiss asked, it wouldn't do for her to think oh her as the child in a red cape.

"Ruby Rose." Said the girl. That was fitting, given her red cape and the red highlights in her black hair. Although Weiss couldn't really judge, given her family's love for white and blue.

"A pleasure to meet you Ruby Rose, I am Weiss Schnee." Ruby's eyes widened. Clearly, she recognized Weiss for exactly who she was, which was good. That meant that she should respect Weiss and be willing to change her foolish thoughts. The Guardsman, on the other hand, didn't react to her name at all. Curious.

"And you?" She said to him. "What is your name?"

"I'm Jaune Arc." His voiced dripped with acid. He obviously didn't approve of her or her entirely correct opinions. But then again, he obviously didn't matter, he was probably just a guard for this Ruby girl. Weiss had heard of House Rose; they were a prestigious line of Huntsmen, known for a long family history of sacrifice for the good of mankind. Arc, however, was a commoner's name. As was befitting of a commoner guardsman.

"Charmed." Weiss said, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. It was never good to forget one's manners. Introductions finished she dismissed him from her mind and turned to address Ruby.

/-/

As soon as Weiss turned away from him, Jaune took his cue to leave. He could see Ruby's eyes begging him to stay as the white-haired girl passionately lectured her about the nature and merit of selective education and the overall benefits the ignorant masses received from their lack of such an education.

"Sorry." Jaune mouthed as he negotiated his way out of the conflict zone and into safer waters. Jaune had been prepared to let Weiss go; he knew the type. Arguing with her would only have resulted in more arguing and _that_ arguing would only have resulted in her walking away in an angry huff, Jaune had been completely ready to cut out the middleman, until Ruby had spoken up. And while Ruby was totally his friend, he wasn't going to take that bullet. Plus, he got the feeling that Weiss was only going to look down on him, the only benefit he could bring to the table would be to be something else for Weiss to glare at.

And besides, he needed information. Everyone seemed to be on board with this whole 'initiation' thing, and he was completely in the dark. Why were there no handy pamphlets? Maybe a desk clerk? Any sort of explanation whatsoever would be greatly appreciated. Food would also be nice. The scary lady had promised food, but from where he was standing there was none to be found.

Jaune made his way through the crowd to the entrance of the chapel, maybe the promised guides would tell him what he needed to know, or maybe they could guide him to the quartermaster so he could get some proper clothes. People kept staring at him, and more than a few people had tried to get him to hold their bags.

He really needed to get out of this flak armor.

Sadly, the chapel entrance held no answers, but it also held no guards. The students weren't confined to the chapel. That was good. Well, if there weren't any guides then he would just have to find the quartermaster and the mess himself.

Jaune stepped out into the hallway. Unlike the chapel, which was festooned with icons to the Emperor and the Primarchs, the hallway was bare of decoration, its only concession to design being the comforting skulls placed every few feet on the handrails. Jaune liked the chapel: it reminded him of home. It was clearly going to be something magnificent once its restoration was complete, but for now it was humble, filled only with simple things. Jaune liked the simple things: The ostentation of the rich and powerful was not for him. Massive displays of wealth and power made him intensely uncomfortable. To some extent the mere existence of a ship like the _Beacon_ made him uncomfortable.

The hallway offered only left or right, and since Jaune had absolutely no idea where he was going, or even what he really wanted to accomplish, he chose randomly. In this case he went left. Jaune went straight down the hall, never diverting from his course. That way if he got tired of walking, he could simply turn around and head back. If he didn't, he would eventually hit some vital section of the ship which was bound to have a crew member he could corner and get some directions out of.

After about five minutes of wandering his stomach informed him that he had better be a lot more proactive about his approach or the coup was back on. Jaune took the hint and his footsteps took up an urgent, searching, cadence. He was practically marching now. He might as well have been one of the ships armsmen on patrol. His wandering eyes spotted the gray uniform of a student. His stomach brushed away any hint of shyness and urged him forward under pain of death.

"Excuse me." Jaune said, walking up behind the girl. She turned and regarded him; her green eyes wary. It was to Jaune's credit that her eyes were the first thing he noticed. She was beautiful, and even the severe lines of her uniform couldn't hide her form, in fact they accentuated it. Her bright red hair framed her face perfectly, which Jaune kept his eyes locked firmly on. Another thing his sisters had taught him, if you met a beautiful girl, don't ever talk about how beautiful she is, just treat her like a normal person. And whatever you do, don't stare.

Jaune stared, but luckily his mouth already had its orders and knew what to do.

"Do you mow the way to the ness?" Apparently, his mouth wasn't as independent as it liked to believe.

"I'm sorry?" She said, clearly giving him a second chance.

Jaune cleared his throat and bought himself a second to think.

"I'm Jaune Arc?" He hazarded; his name was probably a safe bet.

"I'm Pyrrha Nikos." She said, she seemed on edge, as if she was expecting him to pounce. Which he might have considered if he thought he had a shot, which he was quite certain he didn't. His stomach growled, reminding him that the pretty girl was at the absolute bottom of his priority list.

"Do you know where food is?" That got the message across, if not in a very polite manner.

She seemed surprised with his question. Which he thought was a quite a reasonable one in all honesty. He hadn't eaten since morning mess on the _Second Sun_ and it was well into the _Beacon's_ afternoon cycle if the ship's lights were any indication. If there was one thing humans couldn't do without it was a regular light cycle. If the lights didn't dim and brighten people would go insane. Or at least, that's what his drill master had told him.

"You don't want anything else from me?" She said.

That was a weird question. But he _did_ have another thing he needed to know.

"Actually, I do," she flinched as he said that, "Do you know where we store our kit? I assume that we don't sleep with our weapons."

She laughed.

Had he said something funny?

"I do know the way, in fact," she said, "would you mind if I walked with you? Its all the way at the other end."

"Uh, sure?" It's not like he really needed a guide to walk in a straight line, but then again, he had just definitively proven that he wasn't capable of basic speech. Maybe he _did_ need help walking in a straight line.

"Are you a new armsman on the _Beacon_?" she asked as they started to make their way down the hall. He really needed to get out of the is frakking flak armor.

"No." He said quickly. "I'm a, uh-" What _was_ he? Or, more importantly, what could he pretend to be without blowing his cover? "-A scholarship student. Yeah, I'm here on a recommendation from my Colonel." She nodded at that. Apparently, that was a believable cover. Noted.

"Really? That explains why you were at the convocation. You must be quite the fighter to have worked your way out of the Guard and into the Inquisition." She gave him an appraising look.

"And with opinions like the ones you shared in the chapel you must really be something special."

Oh, he was something special alright. He was someone so extraordinarily special that he had gotten himself enrolled in an _Inquisitorial Training School_! He was someone so special that he had slipped past _the Holy Inquisition of the Imperium of Man_ with nothing more than a few shoddily forged enrollment forms! Oh, he was special alright. Special all the way to a bolt round and a shallow grave.

"Inquisition?" he squeaked.

"Well not all of us are here to join the Inquisition." She said, misinterpreting his terror. "In fact, most people are here to train as officers in the Imperial Guard or the Navy." She gestured to herself, "and then there are people like me and Weiss, who are here because we don't have too much choice in the matter. You were brave to stand up to her by the way."

Brave? He hadn't even stood up to her, in fact he had just stood there and took it and then he had run off at the first opportunity. Pyrrha must have seen some other guy in flak armor get yelled at by a girl with unreasonably white hair.

"Not really," he said, "it's not like she could do anything more than yell at me."

"I guess so." Pyrrha said hesitantly. "But she is still a Schnee- it isn't wise to make an enemy of her."

"So what if she's a Schnee? It's not like that means anything." Jaune said. Schnee was one of the most common names in the subsector. Practically every retired sailor took the name of either their ship or the people who owned it, and the Schnee's owned practically everything with an engine stack. If someone was going to make up a name you could bet your bottom throne that they would be Mr. Schnee.

Pyrrha gave him a long look. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. At last she said, "You really don't care about who she is?"

"Should I?" Jaune asked, genuinely curious, was her father a ship captain? Someone important in Vale? It wouldn't be good to piss off the daughter of a local magistrate, that could ruin his life ten ways to Ascension Day.

"I guess not." Pyrrha said, a bit of wonder creeping into her voice. "I guess you don't really care about who I am either, do you."

"Well." Jaune said. "Not to be rude, but I've only just met you."

Pyrrha stared at him.

/-/

"You're not needed here Qrow." Said the big man. He wore the dress blues of an Imperial Commander, and the wall of medals on his breast painted him as a veteran of many campaigns. "You're not needed and you're not wanted." The officer was hunched over a holotable that was depicting some particularly extreme topography. "I don't appreciate having Ozpin's eyes looking over my shoulder at all times." He drew himself up to his full height. Qrow was pretty sure he was nearly seven feet tall, and his full beard made him look like some feudal world savage.

"And Ozpin doesn't appreciate the fact that this war hasn't ended yet, Jeremy." Qrow rasped as he took a quick sip from his flask.

Judging by the vein in his forehead, Lord Commander Jeremiah Winchester didn't appreciate being called Jeremy. And judging by the incandescent rage in his eyes, he didn't enjoy the fact that Qrow was completely beyond his authority.

"This is war!" Lord Winchester shouted, rounding on Qrow. "It does not bow to the timetables of Inquisitors, no matter how powerful they are!"

"Ah ah, Jeremy, bad mouthing a member of His Majesty's Inquisition is practically heresy." Qrow said, walking around the tent to place the holotable firmly between him and Jeremiah.

Lord Winchester's eye twitched.

"And you know what else is practically heresy?" Qrow asked as he sat himself in the Lord Commander's chair. It was frakking nice to be the most powerful person in the room. Qrow supposed his job did have its perks. He wondered if he could requisition Jeremy's amasec. Qrow was certain it would be the good stuff, and it was piss old Winchester off to no end.

"What?" Lord Jeremiah asked.

"What?" said Qrow, jerking from his reverie.

"What else is tantamount to heresy?" Jeremy looked like he was going to blow a gasket. Maybe Qrow should have brought a techpriest.

"Right." Qrow said, remembering why he was here. "What's practically heresy is the amount of Grimm I had to cut through to get to this backwater of a planet." Where was he again? Bescon? Bescon sounded right.

"I have three Huntsmen and fifteen ships of the line at my disposal, Qrow." Lord Jeremiah said in a much calmer tone. Maybe Qrow's admonishment had taken some of the wind out of his sails. "If you had to cut through Grimm to get here, it's clearly because you chose the most difficult way here." Jeremiah gestured to the empty tables and chairs that made up the perimeter of the tent. "Perhaps so that you could interrupt me in the middle of conducting this war to tell me to get on with my war."

Heh. He wasn't completely wrong on that one. It had been fun watching all of Jeremy's toy soldiers toddle out of the tent while he stood there drinking. He had even poured a few drops of amasec on his clothes, just to _really_ get the smell out there.

"Do you know why Ozpin sends me everywhere Jeremy?" Qrow asked.

"To rub his absolute authority in my face?"

"Nah, that's all me." Qrow said. He took another sip of amasec. "Oz sends me because the worst possible thing that can happen to me, will happen to me." Qrow didn't keep his semblance a secret like other Huntsmen. If everyone knew, then they would all underestimate him. Only the truly dangerous understood that Qrow was everything that he was _despite_ his semblance.

"And what happens to me is a pretty frakking good metric of how things are going." Qrow tilted back in Lord Jeremiah's chair and put up his feet. "Did you know I had to fight a Grendel on my way in? A frakking _Grendel_ , Jeremy." Qrow nodded to the mountain range on the holotable. "This war is spiraling out of control. The Grimm are spawning in numbers that haven't been seen since the Faunus Rebellion." Jeremiah flinched, as Qrow had known he would. "You need to end this now before everything spirals completely out of control."

"It's not that easy Qrow." Lord Winchester said calmly. "The orks are dug deep into these mountains. I have to dig them out here and now, If I don't, we'll have another Waagh! Grimmfist on our hands."

"And if you don't end this soon, we'll have something far worse on our hands." Qrow countered.

"I'm pushing my men as hard as I can Qrow." Winchester sighed. "I've got Watts and his team on near constant alert. They barely get an hour of sleep before they're back out suppressing the Grimm."

"And it isn't making a damn difference Jeremy." It was Qrow's turn to sigh. "From the looks of things, you're one defeat away from spiraling completely out of control." Qrow walked over to the holotable and stroked a few keys. It displayed an immense series of trenches. 'You can't keep your momentum and hold this ground." Qrow returned the display to the mountain range, "And you don't have the firepower to dig the orks out of their holes-"

"Then get me the damn firepower!" Winchester slammed his fist on the holotable. Looks like angry Jeremy was back. "Ozpin is only letting me recruit from the outer colonies! If I had a _single_ Atlesian legion here this war would have been over a year ago!"

"And If we had pulled a legion of off Atlas, we would have lost the shipyards in last month's incursion." Qrow said. "If you would let faunus into your ranks you would nearly double your recruitment pool." Qrow knew exactly what that statement would get him, but it was so satisfying to wave Winchester's stubborn idiocy in his stupid bearded face.

"And have a bunch of trained and armed rebels under my nose? The taint of heresy runs deep Qrow, and their whole misbegotten race reeks of it! If I brought them in-"

"-We would have a second faunus rebellion. Yes Jeremy, we know." The look on Winchester's face almost made the Grimm he had to cut through to get here worth it.

"Listen Jeremy, you and your toy soldiers are in a more precarious situation than you know." The chair thumped back onto the floor as Qrow leaned forward. "The Grimm are circling this rock like moths to a flame, and your Huntsmen are only barely keeping them from making planet-fall." Qrow tried to take a sip from his flask, only to find it dry. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "If your boys lose on this little hiking trip then the Grimm are going to be uncontainable, and your Huntsmen and your boats and your legions of child soldiers are going to get consumed in such a tide of black and white that the void is going to look like a bloody forest in comparison."

Qrow stood up and walked around to stand directly in front of Jeremiah, "Ozpin sent me here because he can see what's coming, and if you lose your little war out here then the entire sector is going to be open to the Orks and the Grimm. If you lose, here and now, you're going to doom us all to a century of defensive action. And I think we both know exactly what 'defensive action' means."

Defensive action meant abandoning the outer colonies entirely. And abandoning the colonies meant that the great stations would starve. Defensive action meant that millions would die miserably, which meant that more Grimm would spawn, which meant that they would have to pull their forces back even further. Defensive action was a horrible spiral that they had only just managed to pull themselves out of after the Faunus Rebellion. And even now, they were still recovering from it. Both Qrow and Winchester knew that defensive action was likely to be the doom of the entire subsector, and from there the likely doom of the Segmentum. They had to keep the Grimm contained in Remnant, because if they didn't the Grimm would spiral exponentially out of control, and Qrow really doubted that the rest of the Imperium could withstand an ascendant Grimm threat.

"This is new information." Winchester muttered. "Watts has been telling me that the threat was still manageable, that we still have a few months before we hit a crisis."

Oh? Now that _was_ interesting. Any monkey with magnoculars could see where this situation was headed. There was no way in the Warp that Watts could misread that. Maybe Ozpin had been more right than he had known. Qrow had just assumed that Winchester was a stubborn idiot who couldn't admit defeat when it was staring him in the face, but if his Huntsmen were blatantly lying to him that changed things.

"It's true information, Jeremy." Qrow said, not unkindly. "If you don't win this offensive of yours in the next month every single being on this planet is going to die to the Grimm. And if that happens, I suspect the rest of us are going to die too."

Winchester sat heavily in a nearby chair. He gazed at the holotable, Qrow could see defeat on his face. "You're telling me that the everything rests on my ability to dig these orks out at superhuman speed."

Qrow groaned. "No Jeremy, I'm telling you that if you don't get the frak off of this planet as fast as humanly possible all is lost."

Winchester turned to regard him. "Then all is lost either way." His voice was heavy.

"What exactly do you mean by that Jeremy?"

"What I mean is that Grimmfist itself is in those mountains." Winchester tapped a few keys on the holotable and brought up a projection of a massive ork. Nearly half of its body was cybernetic, and the other half was as black as midnight.

"That's impossible." Qrow couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Colonel Abel blew that thing to bits fifty years ago!"

"Not enough bits apparently." Winchester sighed. "We only spotted it a few weeks ago. But there's no mistaking that thing, no other ork could have skin like that."

No one was quite certain what Grimmfist was. It was certainly an ork, that much was obvious, but also had a strange affinity with the Grimm. So much so that fifty years ago it had swept across the subsector at the head of a green and black tide. Oz thought that Dr. Merlot and Mountain Glenn were related to it somehow, but he had never found any definitive proof. That didn't stop the entire subsector from blaming Merlot for Grimmfist though.

"We can't let that thing live." Qrow said as he stared at the holograph.

"I know." Winchester said. "If we let it get anywhere near this horde of Grimm you're describing-"

"It'll destroy everything." Qrow couldn't take his gaze from its bloody red eyes.

"I have to defeat it here and now." Winchester said, turning to Qrow. "I have to defeat it here and now and you have to help me do it."

"What?"

"Qrow you're one of the best huntsmen alive. If you could go in and take it out organized resistance would crumble, we could sweep the greenskins aside and eliminate two massive threats to the subsector."

"Why don't you have Watts do it?" Qrow asked. He suspected he already knew the answer.

"I think both you and I know that Watts can't be trusted." Winchester said. "If he's been feeding me false information then he's been setting me up for failure."

"You think he's another Merlot?" Qrow asked.

"Another megalomaniacal idiot who thinks he can control Grimmfist? Yes, that is my sneaking suspicion." Winchester nodded toward the tent's entrance, "I'll have Watts brought in and arrested. You eliminate Grimmfist. And not a word of this leaves this tent."

Qrow nodded.

He was going to have a lot of work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At LAST we get to some of the plot, We should be hitting initiation next chapter, and Qrow's adventure gives me a great excuse to do further world building. Also Colonel Abel is the same person as Father Able in Chapter 3, I just forgot how I spelled it in chapter 3. From this point forward The canon spelling is Abel.
> 
> If I can get through this whole story with only one retcon I'll be extremely proud of myself.


	6. Initiation Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Initiation begins it's lumbering charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, short chapter this week. I got a new job which has taken up a lot of my time and there has been some holiday drama. You know the drill. This is the first half of the actual initation chapter. From this point forward I am going to once again try for a real publishing schedule. This time every Sunday. I will have something out every Sunday, it just might be shorter than I would like it to be.
> 
> Enjoy

Jaune and Pyrrha walked in silence for a while. The only sound between them was the echo of their footsteps. Jaune was lost in thought. How was he going to keep up this charade? What would this school expect of him? He could read a little bit of High Gothic, but he had only learned as much as he had so that he could follow along with the hymns during the weekly service. He was pretty sure that the Inquisition or the officer corps wouldn't have much use for, 'regem laudemus.' No. They would be using High Gothic for battleplans and complex mechanical prayers. Maybe he could get by on the whole, 'I'm a simple guardsman who doesn't know any of yer fancy inquisitin' speak,' thing. He doubted it. Just as he doubted his lifespan the moment he opened his mouth in front of anyone less gullible than Pyrrha or Ruby. Jaune was extremely glad that everyone spoke Low Gothic at the very least. He doubted he knew a single term that could be used in an inquisitorial conversation. Well, he did know _one_ Inquisitorial term, 'traditor.' Which he would no doubt be branded as the moment he couldn't tell the professor which station on a voidship controlled its sensors.

Jaune wondered if he could just slip his way back onto another Militarum transport. It shouldn't be too hard. He still had his recruitment papers-

"What?" Jaune jerked from his thoughts.

"I said," Pyrrha repeated, "I'm from an agricultural moon near Mistral Station. Where are you from?"

How long had she been talking? Had they really been walking in silence, or had she been talking to him this whole time? And why was she asking him that? Did she suspect him already? Did she-

"Hello? Command to Jaune?" A hand waved in front of his face. "Are you in there?"

"What?" Jaune said again, desperately stalling for time as his brain decided on an appropriate action. It decided on the truth. If he only told the one lie, then he wouldn't have to keep up with much.

"I'm from Ansel Colony." Jaune was pretty sure he didn't sound like he was on the edge of panic. Which was good, because ever since he had been given a moment alone with his thoughts, he had been spiraling toward an inevitable heart attack.

"Where is that? I've never heard of it before." Pyrrha's voice was full of honest curiosity, maybe she was just trying to make conversation.

"It's a little planet-side agricultural colony." Jaune said, if he kept talking then she couldn't ask any more questions, which was probably the best outcome.

"We're in the outer regions of the subsector." He continued. "The first time in living memory that anyone had even seen an imperial ship was when the recruiters came through last month."

"Last month?" Pyrrha repeated. Frak. Jaune made a note to never let his mouth do the talking ever again.

"Uh." He doubted he could buy himself enough time to wriggle his way out of _that_ question. "Yes?" Jaune groaned internally. It wouldn't take much logic for her to figure out exactly what was going on. And from there it wouldn't take more than three words to have him bound into a penal legion. If he was lucky.

"You demonstrated such exemplary behavior that your regiment's commander took notice and had you transferred onto the _Beacon_ in the span of only a month?" Pyrrha couldn't keep the shock from her voice, and she certainly couldn't keep it from her face.

"Yes."

/-/

"It was a timetable thing." Jaune said meekly. "There wouldn't be another chance before we were deployed. So the Colonel fast tracked me."

Pyrrha couldn't believe it. She, Pyrrha Nikos, was walking to the cafeteria with one of the humblest examples that humanity had to offer. A Guardsman. One of the faceless masses. A simple cog in the numberless legions that made up humanities first, and often last, line of defense. She was going to get a meal with someone that she had always been taught to consider nothing more than a number. A pawn. A convenient meatshield whose sole purpose was to sacrifice his life to protect more important pieces on the board. In the span of a month this pawn had worked his way from less than nothing to an officer candidate in the halls of the Schola Venatus. It was no small wonder that he wasn't in awe of people like her and Weiss, he had no doubt been through far worse just to get here.

He was like a character from a fairy tale. A humble peasant who took up arms to defend his farm and became the right hand of the king. Even as a child Pyrrha had scoffed at such stories. Peasants did not rise to nobility. They died so that their betters could march on to victory. Everyone knew that. Yet here he was, walking beside her. A true example of the indomitability of the human spirit.

"Jaune." She said. "What do you hope to accomplish here?"

"What?" His blue eyes were guarded. He didn't trust her. She could understand that, people like her had been ordering people like him to their death for millennia. From the look on his face he knew exactly what the power dynamic between the two of them was and was determined to fight it every inch of the way. She respected that.

"Well, I'm going to return to my House after my education here is complete. Others will become Huntsmen in the service of the Inquisition, and still others will go on to act as officers in the military." Pyrrha was certain he was more than familiar with all of this, but it was important to show him that she wasn't looking down on any of the professions she presented. All were equally important in her eyes, and it was important to her that he know that.

"I've always liked the Imperial Navy." Jaune said carefully. He was wary of even the simplest questions. Like an animal in a cage. She supposed that made sense. After all, he was on a ship full of his natural enemies. Pyrrha knew that it was going to take a long time to build his trust. But to have a full and honest rapport with someone who had come from one of the lowest rungs of society would massively benefit her when she took over House Nikos. If she could see the world through his eyes, she might be able to make it better.

"You wish to go into the admiralty?" She asked. If she could just get him to tell her who he was she was certain she could build firm bridges.

He looked shocked at her question. That made sense, it wouldn't do for one in his position to dream of climbing so high. Perhaps he had never even considered the admiralty? Maybe he just wanted to be in a position to protect the lives of other people like him. She should encourage him. She should let him know that he could fly higher here than he had ever dreamed of before.

"Did you know that Lord Admiral Ironwood trained here?" Pyrrha said. "That was before Atlas really sunk its claws into him. Back then he was just a scholarship student, like you." Pyrrha had hoped for some reaction from the blonde guardsman, but she was disappointed. His face might as well have been carved from stone. He must have been familiar with Ironwood's tale. Everyone was. She probably just sounded condescending. Another noble trying to relate to the peasant in flak armor.

As if to save her from awkwardly explaining the she was not actually noble scum and in fact viewed him as a person, the cafeteria appeared. Ah, food. The great equalizer. Maybe he would open up a little more once he had had something to eat. The rumble of conversation was also a nice change of pace from the silence of the hallway. No one would be forced to fill the silence. Conversation could flow naturally, and hopefully she could discover more about this exceptional individual.

/-/

They waited for food in relative silence. Jaune was thankful that the mess was packed. It meant that Pyrrha couldn't easily ask him questions. Which meant that he didn't have to keep opening his mouth. Which was probably best for both of them. It kept his cover intact and kept her from having to find the nearest guard to have him arrested, which would probably disrupt everybody's lunch. Yeah. It was better for everyone this way.

The food they were serving was a cut above anything he had seen in the past month. Real meat, real vegetables, water that didn't taste like promethium. If Jaune didn't know better, he'd have thought he'd died and gone to the Emperor's side. Though at this point he would have been satisfied with soylens and corpse starch. The only thing that had been keeping his stomach in check was the fact that it needed the brain to get him to the food. If that hadn't been the case Jaune was quite certain he would have been forced out of power years ago. As it was his body only grudgingly accepted his leadership. Jaune's eyes sought a place to sit, but the mess was absolutely packed. The only open spots he could see were around two people in the red robes of Mars. Those spots were open for good reason, the adepts of the Mechanicus were renowned for their general rudeness to their fellow man. Though, in all honesty, few people really considered techpriests to be human. And so Jaune's eyes went right on searching. He'd rather eat standing than deal with the Priests of Mars.

Jaune felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to see Pyrrha urgently gesturing toward the open table with the techpriests. He began to shake his head no, but she was already gone. Headed for the robed nutcases that worshiped little boxes of screws. Jaune sighed, but no better options had presented themselves. He really should have taken this chance to get away from the nosy girl. But he was an idiot. Jaune sighed deeply and followed her.

"-my Sacristan told me a bit of the Creed Mechanicus, but-" She was already deep in conversation with them in the moments it had taken him to get there. That was honestly impressive. The few times Jaune had tried to talk to the creepy metal men they had just screeched at him until he had gone away. Though him being lost and covered in vomit may have had something to do with it.

Jaune slowly placed his tray and avoided eye contact, it was better to let the cog-boys talk to him than for him to try and talk to them. Pyrrha might be able to strike up a conversation at the drop of a hat, but Jaune was no good at it. And he didn't even care to try with techpriests.

To Jaune's immense surprise one the priests shifted itself to sit directly across from him.

"Hi! I'm Nora!" Jaune expected to see too many eyes and a vox grill. Instead he saw a redheaded girl with a wide grin on her face. She extended a gloved hand. Jaune reluctantly took it and squeezed gently. You had to be extremely careful with techpriests, it was impossible to predict what would set them off. He must have set her off. Because, in return, she squeezed as hard as she could. At least, Jaune hoped that was as hard as she could squeeze. He was pretty sure he felt a finger break. Once she had his hand in a bone crunching grip, she shook has arm as hard as she possibly could. At least, Jaune hoped that was as hard as she could. He was pretty sure he felt his shoulder dislocate.

"I'm Jaune." He wheezed past the pain. She laughed at him and released his abused limb from her grip.

"Don't be such a baby!" she said. "I calculated your bone density and muscle mass, that handshake was _well_ within your tolerance! Or it should have been. Unless I did the math wrong. Renny! I need you to look at some numbers for me!"

Nora slid back in front of the other techpriest and took off her gloves. Underneath them were a set of vicious looking cybernetic hands. She detached a cable and unceremoniously plugged it in to the other priest's hand. He jerked out of his conversation with Pyrrha for a moment and stared off into the distance.

"Nora, you calculated for the muscle mass of an Ogryn. Not a standard human." He said kindly. Jaune noticed that he also still had a human face, and that his eyes were pink. That was neat.

"Jaune, this is Rho-12." Pyrrha said. "He's a Mechanicum initiate." Ren inclined his head and leaned around Pyrrha to extend his hand. Jaune was understandably wary.

"I assure you that I won't damage your hand, Jaune." Ren said. Jaune was in no way convinced. But he really didn't have a choice. Ren gave his hand a light squeeze.

"I am Lie Ren, Initiate of the Fourth Sphere, my official designation is Rho-12." He said. Ren was surprisingly human, the only augmentations that Jaune could see were his hands.

"And I'm Nora Valkyrie! Skitarius of the Eighth Stratum! I'm Ren's bodyguard!"

"Pleased to meet you." Jaune said. On the list of things he'd never thought he would have to say saying 'pleased to meet you' to a techpriest was right up there with 'I've infiltrated the inquisition.' It had been a strange day. And Jaune got the feeling that things were only going to get stranger as time went on. Hm. Strange things. A thought occurred to him.

"Do any of you know what this 'initiation' thing is supposed to be? I'm not really from around here."

"Ah. Well." Nora said. "Ren and I _do_ know, but because of our relationship with each other and with the Schola we have been exempted." She gestured to her and Ren's mechanical bits. "And because of the nature of that exemption, we can't tell you." Nora looked apologetic. Jaune was pretty sure that was the first time he had seen a techpriest display such an emotion. Or really any emotion at all. It was a little shocking. So shocking in fact, that his mouth once again slipped the leash.

"Pardon me," he said before he could stop himself, "but for techpriests you two seem awfully human."

Ren and Nora did not seem too offended by his statement. Which was good. Pyrrha, on the other hand, looked mortified. Which was probably bad.

"I have not been fully initiated into the Rites of the Machine." Ren said. His voice was more in line with what Jaune would expect from a techpriest. Monotone. "I suspect that as a consequence I appear more outwardly human."

"And!" Nora said. "All of us cog-people are human anyways! We just talk differently!" She tapped her eyes. "If you could see and hear how _we_ see and hear, you wouldn't be very interested in talking with your mouth anyway."

Ren nodded. "In addition to that, because of our mental augments we are constantly aware of all of our surroundings. We can ignore it, but our eyes still catch and catalogue every bit of spit that comes from your mouth." He smiled apologetically. "It makes it difficult to hold a conversation."

Jaune was suddenly preternaturally aware of the crumbs on his collar. He quietly wiped them away, hoping that Ren wouldn't notice.

"If you were hoping that I wouldn't notice, I have bad news." Ren said. "I will _always_ notice." Ren shrugged. "There's no need to be self-conscious."

Jaune was quite certain he was never _not_ going to be self-conscious around anyone in a red robe ever again. Did the really see everything? Could they read his mind? Or could they read his face so clearly that they could deduce exactly what he was thinking? Did they know he was a fake? Were they a test? Were they just waiting for him to break? Were they-

"We apologize for making you feel so nervous Jaune." Ren nodded to him and pointedly turned to Nora. "Nora we should go make sure everything is in order with Archmagos Oobleck."

Nora looked confused. "We should? But didn't we just-"

"Now Nora." Ren turned to Jaune and Pyrrha and inclined his head again. "I apologize for our abrupt departure, but we need to make sure all the beacons are in place for initiation."

Something unspoken passed between them and the two rose in unison.

"Bye! Sorry!" Nora said as the two moved away. Ren winked at him.

Ren winked at him?

/-/

"-and that is, ultimately, why the Lutherian Heresy had to result in complete Exterminatus. Of course, the _people_ do not know it was Exterminatus, they just know that the system was quarantined by the Inquisition. Could you imagine what would happen if the commoners of the great stations would do if they could freely talk to each other? The level of panic in the sector would be completely unmanageable. They would have us overrun in _weeks_ if we did not control everything they see."

Ruby wasn't quite sure how long Weiss had been talking. The universe could have gone through heat death and reformed. It probably had. Weiss certainly seemed to need that much time to explain why everyone was better off being stupid. Or, as Weiss would put it, 'Shielded by ignorance.' Ruby had long ago stopped trying to fight back. Weiss wouldn't override her when she spoke, but she would look at her with that expression you reserved exclusively for a child trying to explain a Warp engine. And if that wasn't infuriating enough. When Ruby would finish her passionate speech about the people being more intelligent and reliable than Weiss thought they were, Weiss would just tell her that she'd 'understand in time.' What kind of answer even _was_ that? Weiss was only two years older than her, its not like two years made that much difference.

"I know that because of your youth you will be behind when it comes to governmental theory, but I hope this little chat has helped you. You can come to me any time if you have questions or feel out of your depth. It is always a pleasure to help guide the education of the people I will be in command of in the future." Somehow Weiss managed to insult her three times in a single statement about helping her.

"Anyway, as things stand, I need to speak to someone about bedding. As there is no way that I will be sleeping on the floor with the peasantry." Weiss looked quickly at Ruby. "No offence to you or your bodyguard. But it would be an absolute disgrace if someone of my standing was to be seen sleeping on the floor of a nearly derelict chapel." She gestured to the scaffolds and empty niches that made up the half of the chapel that wasn't currently occupied by a milling crowd of students. "I mean what were they thinking? Holding convocation in a place like this."

"Maybe they were making a point about the overall status of the Beacon?" Ruby had long ago learned to phrase all her statements to Weiss as innocent questions. It was just easer that way.

"I am sure they were Ruby." Weiss said not-quite-condescendingly. "If you'll excuse me." With that Weiss strode off into the crowd. Leaving Ruby more than a little dazed. What had just happened?

Oh. She remembered. She had stood up for Jaune and he had ditched her. That was what had happened. That _weasel_! She was going to absolutely _destroy_ him in sparring class. He was probably off making friends and having adventures while she was stuck with the tender mercies of Weiss. If she never saw that girl again it would be too soon.

Ruby found a quiet corner in the chapel to lay out her bed roll. When she pulled it out of her bag, she caught a faint smell of home. Tears jumped unbidden to her eyes as the reality of her situation came crashing down. She was fifteen in the Schola Venatus. She didn't really know anyone other than her sister. She wasn't going to get to see Dad for a while. She wasn't sure how long it would be until the students got a break to go home. She honestly had no idea what she was doing here. To say that she felt overwhelmed would be a massive understatement. Ozpin had invited her because of her combat ability. But she was woefully underprepared for literally everything else. Her scores in High Gothic were passing at best, and she had _absolutely_ no idea how to lead people or run a government like Weiss was saying. All she really knew was that the Schola trained huntsmen like her Dad and Uncle Qrow.

She just. Just didn't know. She wasn't sad. She had gotten into the school of her dreams! But she _was_ sad, and scared. She didn't know how to do anything. And everyone was going to expect so much from her. All she knew was combat. She just wanted the fighting to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll see you guys with the action/plot half of this chapter next Sunday, January 12. I will also stop putting any sort of writing predictions at the end of these. I have, so far, not managed to meet a single one.


	7. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude before we return to the main Initiation Arc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys its me. Meeting my obligations. This chapter was really fun to write, so I hope you dig it. Also, beware, for exposition cometh.

Bescon was an arid world. It would never support a substantial population. It didn't sit astride any important trade lanes. It didn't even boast an interesting solar system. Just a single baking marble slowly drifting around a dying star. Its days were long and harsh, and its nights were deep and cold. The only reason Bescon held a breathable atmosphere was due to the direct intervention of humanity. Because Bescon held exactly one thing of interest to the Imperium of Man. Or, more specifically, to Jacques Schnee and the Technomages of Atlas. Bescon held Dust in unseen quantities. Dust which could fuel the great Atlesian forges. Dust which could power the ancient weapon systems of the great stations. Dust which could burn longer and hotter than promethium ever could. Dust which kept Remnant one step ahead of its many enemies. And Dust which was currently finding its way into every crevice of Qrow's body. Though this was probably the more worthless kind of dust. However, its inherent lack of value didn't help with the chafing. Hell, maybe the dust was digging so deeply into him as some sort of cosmic revenge. A rebellion against its perceived mundanity. Qrow was pretty sure that nothing that chafed this badly could be mundane. It had to have been sent directly from the foul gods in the warp to ruin his day. And honestly, given the nature of things, he could be completely correct. That thought was not comforting.

Qrow hid from the scouring winds and gazed down on the battle below him. He was making his way deep into the mountain range where Grimmfist was supposed to be hiding. Unfortunately, this meant that he was exposed to chafing dust storms that swept across the atmosphere. But it also meant that he had a fantastic view of the struggle for dominance that was taking place all across the vast desert flats that radiated out from this great mountain range. Qrow vaguely remembered some briefing about a planetary collision between Bescon and some other heavenly body. But it didn't really matter. None of the academics of Bescon really mattered to Qrow. Because there was something else that the dusty world of Bescon held in abundance.

Orks.

Right now, Bescon was the staging ground for an Orkish host that had the potential to destroy or enslave all life in Remnant. And on a clear day Qrow could look out from the mountains and see the great dust clouds where the greenskins held their lunatic races. Even as Lord Winchester ground mercilessly forward, they held their races. Every day thousands of men and women would push forward from their trenches and buy a few feet at the cost of hundreds of lives and oceans of blood. And everyday the orks would hold their races. It was infuriating to watch. Humanity waged a bloody war that whipped up such despair that Grimm were drawn for lightyears around while the orks had the time of their lives. The orks didn't know or care why they fought. They simply took lives and destroyed. orks didn't create, they barely thought beyond the next fight or meal. Only the greatest of them were capable of conducting a campaign. And, honestly, 'conduct' might be too strong of a word. The greatest of the orks simply had the raw power to funnel the brute ferocity of their fellows in one general direction. Of all the xenos, Qrow hated Orks the most.

Through the clear darkness of Bescon's frigid night Qrow could see where the Guard were pushing forward. He could see the strobing flashes of lasfire, like a million campfires burning brightly in the dark. At least, Qrow hoped the guard were pushing. He could just as easily be seeing the sundering of Imperial lines as the Orks laughed and danced their way over charred and mutilated bodies. It was the sheer joy they took in bloodshed that disgusted him the most. While the men and women of the Guard lived lives of brutal violence, they constantly yearned for something more. For some greater lasting peace. Not so the orks. All the orks wanted was another skull to crush. They weren't unlike his sister in that regard.

And like that his mood went from bad to worse. She always had that effect on him. Qrow turned from the battle and picked his way across the ridgeline. Jeremy's intelligence put Grimmfist somewhere in the old Schnee mining complex. Completely safe from orbital bombardment or any kind of armored assault. The extreme terrain of the mountains aside, any powerful explosion had a very real chance of touching off the raw Dust in the mines. And given the extent of those mines and the amount of Dust that was projected to still remain, such an explosion could set off a chain reaction that would destroy the whole planet. Qrow was pretty sure that Jeremy wouldn't mind too much if this rock got blown into a million pieces and took the orks with it. But Jacques would have them all very publicly shamed at best or very privately killed at worst. No man had the power to cross the Schnee and get away with it. Qrow was pretty sure that Jacques would even take a shot at Ozpin if he had a reason to.

Qrow shook his head. He was getting lost in thought again and he couldn't afford to. He was approaching the massive quarry that marked the entrance into the mines. Which meant that he could soon confirm or deny Jeremy's dubious intelligence. The orks had built crude towers with icons to their savage gods around the edges of the quarry. Icon was a generous word. They were really just a massive toothy jaw with a pair of crude eyes worked into some semblance of a face. Heh. Semblance.

Qrow shook his head again. It was time for action. He couldn't let his mind slip from him. On top of the towers were bonfires, and around those bonfires Qrow could make out the shadows of guards. The area around the quarry was perfectly level, a wide plain in the middle of soaring mountains. No doubt this was the work of the Mechanicus. Qrow knelt down and ran his hand across the ground. He could feel to micro-furrows where the levelers had shorn and compacted the mountain into a landing field. Once this place would have been full of cargo ships and housing for the miners. Now it was dotted with crude campsites that were filled with the raucous laughter of drunken greenskins. Qrow doubted any of their sentries could see him hunched in the darkness. But underestimating the Greenskins was a quick route to the grave. Something that the people of Remnant had learned all too keenly in the past.

It was best to go into this with as much information as possible. The Warboss had to be here, the sheer amount of orkish effigies gave Qrow more than enough proof. And he couldn't find that holopict of Grimmfist in any of the archives on the _Harbinger_. The Warboss was here, and it had to be Grimmfist. Qrow was going to have to pull out all the stops.

Qrow closed his eyes and opened his soul to the Warp. And he called. He sang quietly into a realm of daemons and horror. He whistled a short repeating tune into a twisted swirling miasma of color and shape. He did all of this at once, for the laws of the Warp held no bearing on the laws of reality. It would be more accurate to say that he bared his spirit and emanated the idea of music into the soul sea. For anyone else this would be incredibly dangerous, and for any other huntsman it would be doubly so. The shining, vital, souls of huntsmen were a delicacy to the creatures of the warp. They were a clarion call to the hungering beasts that swam the sea of souls. But Qrow had something that many huntsmen lacked. His Semblance had been personally unlocked by Ozpin. His soul burned with golden fire that turned away the lesser predators. It would not save him from the greater beasts that rumbled and rolled within depths of the Warp, but he could skim the surface in relative safety.

Qrow could still remember the day Oz had trusted him. The day Oz had changed him. He had been young, eager, probably foolish. Ozpin had taken him into his sanctum and explained the nature of the Grimm, the nature of his eternal war with Salem, the nature of the Warp, and the nature of Ozpin himself. He had asked Qrow what he wanted most in this life. And he had given Qrow a gift and a curse. He had given Qrow knowledge and power.

Qrow relived the memory as he poured his being into the Warp.

/-/

They had been in Ozpin's inner sanctum on Vale station. It was a comfortable room. Each of its four walls were hidden behind shelves full of books. Ozpin himself sat in an overstuffed chair behind a desk cluttered with papers, data slates, and even more books. The floor was carpeted in a dark green which muffled all sound. Silence hung heavy between them as Ozpin paused to find the right words.

"The Warp was not always as it is now." Ozpin said carefully. He leaned back and closed his eyes, as if seeing some distant memory. "When the Emperor still walked among us, the tides of the Warp were calm. Gentle even." Ozpin sighed at the sight behind his eyelids. "Warpstorms were rare, travel was easy. There were no nightmares. There was no Warp sickness. Traveling to and from the Warp was as simple as taking off a shoe." Ozpin sighed again. "I think what we experience now is some twisted revenge for the calm He forced on the denizens of the Warp. I think that, to them, the golden after image of His light is only just now leaving their retinas. To them, ten thousand years is nothing, not even an eye blink. And for every second of stability they were forced to experience, they will make us feel lifetimes of misery. The currents of time do not flow cleanly in the Warp, and I suspect that we have not even felt the edge of their full fury." Ozpin leaned forward and opened his eyes. He looked deep into Qrow's soul. "I could take you there. To a place where the Warp is still calm, still free of their hatred and pain. I could show you how things are meant to be."

The force of his gaze and the meaning behind his words rocked Qrow back into his seat. An hour ago, the foremost worry in his mind was that his best friend was dating his sister. And now he was being offered information that could shake the very Imperium to its core.

"How?" Qrow rasped into the silence. He quickly cleared his throat. "How do you know? How can you show me?"

Ozpin smiled. "Even when presented with overwhelming knowledge you still ask questions. I knew I had chosen correctly." He leaned back in his chair. "How do I know? The answer to that is both simple and extraordinarily complex. Suffice to say, I was there." Ozpin gestured to the shelves of books that surrounded them. "And I write everything down."

Qrow stared at the walls full of books. "These are…"

"Journals. Yes." Ozpin said. "I am extraordinarily old, Qrow. I have been a servant of the Emperor since the moment I first heard His voice."

Qrow tried to speak, but his voice would not come.

"He was like a father to me." Ozpin continued. "He showed me the truth, He showed me humanity's destiny. He showed me what we could be, if only we followed Him." Ozpin's voice grew heavy. "But for a single moment, I doubted Him. For just the shortest possible measure of time, my faith in Him wavered." He sighed heavily "And as we all know," Ozpin nodded toward Qrow, "A second here is an infinity in the Warp."

Qrow opened his mouth but Ozpin forestalled him with a raised hand. "As for your second question. I can show you only if you trust me." Ozpin gestured to his journals. "The information contained within these journals would be considered heresy by the Ecclesiarchy and the Inquisition. The information I have given you already would warrant a death sentence. I have only told you these truths because I believe that I can trust you totally, Qrow." Ozpin leaned forward gestured to the door behind them. "You can go right now and inform the Arbites or the Ecclesiarchy. I won't stop you. This is your chance to leave and forget everything I've just told you. But if you stay, you must know that knowledge is a curse."

Qrow didn't move. He wasn't sure he _could_ move.

"I will take your stupefied silence as assent." Ozpin's lips quirked at his own joke. "This is a lot to take in, I understand that. But I would not have told you all of this if I didn't think you were ready. However, before we continue, I need to confirm something." Ozpin paused and considered his next words.

"What do you want most in this life Qrow?" He asked.

Qrow's mind, which was already moving at a glacial pace, stopped entirely. What? What did he want most in life? How was he supposed to answer that question? Right now, he really wanted to go back to an hour ago where he was planning to give Tai the Talk. Right now, he wanted to wake up in his bunk and discover that this was all some weird dream. Right now, he wanted more answers that Ozpin could possibly give. But what did he want most? For his whole life? He didn't know. He didn't think he'd ever know. But Ozpin was watching him with those eyes. Silently waiting for an answer. An answer that Qrow really _really_ didn't have.

"To help people." Qrow said slowly. "I think what I want most is to help people."

Ozpin nodded. "A noble goal. And perhaps the most difficult one there is. Tell me Qrow. Do you trust me?"

Once again, the gears of Qrow's mind seized. Uh. Yes? No? He trusted that Ozpin was a good guy who was looking after Remnant as best he could. But then again, the old man had just claimed to be at least ten thousand years old and to have spoken to the Emperor himself. Qrow knew plenty of guys who said plenty of things after a few gladstones or a few too many hits to the head. Did he trust that Ozpin was good? Yes. Did he trust that Ozpin was sane and telling him the truth? Not so much.

Qrow shrugged. He got the feeling that Ozpin would know if he lied.

"Sorta?" He said after a few moments of silence.

Ozpin nodded again, like Qrow's answer was exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Do you know what it takes to 'unlock' a Semblance, Qrow?" Ozpin asked.

"Uh, some words? A person with a Semblance that's already been unlocked?" Qrow had never really thought about it. He was usually more focused on the way his own Semblance consistently ruined his life. He wondered if this conversation was somehow its doing.

"Those are the ingredients on the surface." Ozpin agreed. "But the process itself is much deeper." On Ozpin's desk was a small icon of the Emperor, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands as he spoke. "Have you ever wondered why Semblances are restricted? Why not everyone in the entire Imperium has a Semblance?"

Qrow had wondered that, yes.

"The unlocking of a Semblance is not as simple as taking the chains off of a soul. It is a binding of two souls." The Icon in Ozpin's hand was not the traditional Warrior Emperor that was seen in the great cathedrals of the Ecclesiarchy. It depicted another of His many aspects, a hooded man reaching out. Some called this aspect the Stranger, others called it the Visitor, but most saw the bearded face beneath the hood and called it the Aspect of the Father. "Each and every huntsman and huntress is bound to me Qrow. It is the strength of my soul that prevents you from being consumed by the denizens of the Warp. Any person with a Semblance can unlock another. But with each link in the chain my protection grows weaker, and the soul becomes more vulnerable. It is through me that all of your souls are guarded, and it is through me that all your powers are granted." Ozpin looked apologetic. "However, I have no control over what your Semblances become."

Qrow found his voice again. "How?" He had been saying that word a lot lately. "How can you protect us? How are you so old? Who are you?"

Ozpin smiled. "Let me show you." He said. "Let me prove everything I've just said to you."

"And how are you going to do that?" Qrow asked.

"I need you to trust me." Ozpin said. "I need you to open your mind and bare your soul to me."

"And how do I do that?"

"Lower your aura completely and close your eyes."

Qrow lowered his defenses and closed his eyes. He heard Ozpin move from his place behind the desk. He could hear soft footfalls as Oz deliberately made his way around the desk toward Qrow. He heard the whistle of air as Ozpin's cane flew towards his temple. And he thought he might have heard the loud crack it made before he descended into unconsciousness.

/-/

_I apologize for the use of brute force_. There was a voice in Qrow's head, it sounded familiar. But he couldn't quite place it.

_Open your eyes Qrow_. There was the voice again. It was odd. He could almost place it. It was like forgetting a word as you spoke. You know that you knew it, but no matter how hard you tried the word would not come.

_Open your eyes_. Qrow tried to do what the voice asked him, but he couldn't feel his eyes. He knew they were there, but they weren't there. He tried to reach up and feel for them only to find that his arms were missing too.

…But they weren't missing. He could feel them. They were heavy and resting at his side. It was like he could see himself in a mirror, but no matter how hard he pushed against the glass he couldn't get through. Qrow started to breathe heavily as panic set in. But he wasn't breathing! He could feel the rise and fall of his chest, but he couldn't feel the gentle currents of air that should accompany it. Was he dead? Had Ozpin dumped his body in the void? Was this what death felt like?

_Calm yourself Qrow_. There was that voice again! He could hear it, but he didn't have ears! How could he hear the voice if he didn't have ears?

_You are trapped within your mind Qrow. You must move forward and free yourself from the bonds that constrain you._ How did he know that voice? How was it speaking to him? Why could he feel his body but not feel his body? What was going on!?

_Qrow_. The voice said firmly. _Step forward and all will be revealed_.

How could he step if he couldn't move his legs? How could he move if he couldn't move?

_I suppose I must do everything myself_. Suddenly the darkness was lifted and Qrow was gazing into a brilliant light. Around the light he could see an ocean of white clouds, soft rainbows of color murmured deep in their depths. Above the light he could a perfect reflection of the cloud sea and its glowing lights. To his right and left he could see more reflections. He could see all of these at once. He could even see himself. He was a soft silver sphere floating inside a cage of golden bars. He could see _everything_. And it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like this was how he was always meant to see. But had been too blind to understand.

_This._ Said the voice. _Is how the Sea of Souls should be_. The golden light in front of Qrow pulsed as the voice spoke. _This_. It said again. _Is what we shall return it to_.

"Ozpin?" Qrow asked. He didn't really speak, so much as think in the direction of the light.

_That is the name and body I currently wear_. Said the voice. _But it is not who I am._

"Who are you?" Qrow got the feeling that he was only going to be speaking in questions for a while.

_I am many_. Said the glowing soul. _First, I was the Son, then I was the Father, now I am the Spirit of Many_.

"Do you have a name?" Qrow asked.

_I have many names._ The voice answered. _But remembrance is difficult for one such as I. So many souls, so many lifetimes, so many memories_. The voice faded into silence.

Qrow waited in silence. There wasn't much he could really ask. There wasn't much he could really do. He stared at the light, at the sea of souls around him. Eventually he couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"Why did you bring me here?"

_To show you our goal_. The voice said. _To show you the end which justifies the means_. _To show you that all suffering, all pain, all strife and confusion has a point. A purpose_. The light glowed brighter and projected itself across the ocean around it. _Peace_. _I have brought you here to show you peace_. _But most of all_. The voice said. _I have brought you here to give unto you a gift and a curse_.

The voice sang. It sang an ancient song of loss and regret. It sang a song of hope and vitality. It sang a song of fury and justice. It sang of the future and the past. It sang in lament of the things that were and it sang in praise of the things that would be. It sang to Qrow. It sang to the shining clouds that surrounded them. And from its song a small shape formed, drawn forth from the sea of souls. A small bird flapped its wings and took flight between them.

/-/

Qrow smiled at the memory. He had been to the Sea of Souls precious few times since then. But he had been blessed to always carry a piece of it with him. An apology for his past, and a hope for a brighter future.

In front of him an ethereal bird hopped and fluttered. Ozpin had told him that its name was Corvus. Qrow had never been able to figure out the connection between the little bird and the Primarch. But he was certain the name held a deeper meaning.

"Fly." He whispered to the little bird. His familiar. It soared above the dust and the war, and through its eyes Qrow could see everything he needed to see.

/-/

"The _Beacon_ will be making a micro-warp jump across the Vale system." Ozpin said into the microphone. "The moment that warp translation is complete, each of you will be making a combat launch into the Emerald Forest." He gestured to the hanger full of fighter craft behind him. "The Emerald Forest asteroid belt holds the last remnants of Waagh! Grimmfist. In order to begin a full purge of the area five key defensive stations must be recaptured and their machine spirits must be awakened." It had taken a monumental effort to convince the local Navy elements to hold off on purging the Emerald Forest. Especially with the Schnee breathing down their necks. Ozpin was impressed that he had managed to buy as much time as he had. However, the moment that the _Beacon_ had become Warp capable the local admiralty had not stopped its demands that the purge begin immediately.

"The _Beacon_ and local elements will be providing support, but it will be your task to negotiate the Forest and reactivate the stations." The students had to hit the ground running. If they couldn't survive this, they simply weren't capable of what he needed from them. "This will not be an easy task, but I am quite certain you are all more than up to the challenge."

/-/

Frakking _what_!? Jaune was once again surrounding by a group of people who were nodding along like this was the most natural thing in the world. Yeah. Let's send teenagers into Ork and Grimm infested space and just let them figure it out. Let's just do that. That's normal. That makes sense. Jaune could only assume that Ozpin must also be the guy who decided that basic training should happen in the Warp. Oh, and speaking of the warp, he was going to be going into certain death _nauseous_. Great. This was great. The entire point of him being here was so that he _wouldn't_ die sick to his stomach.

Jaune was fully aware that he was in over his head. He had had a full day to come to terms with that. But some part of his brain had told him that there couldn't be much more to this place than school and sparring. All of the students were carrying guns and blades like it was no big deal. He had a gun. He had a blade, sorta. He could handle this. But no. Apparently everyone here was _also_ an accomplished fighter pilot. So accomplished in fact that they were going headfirst into a combat scenario that would make hardened veterans at least _consider_ holding back and letting all the big ships do most of the work first. Jaune had long ago learned that veterans had become veterans because they were intensely pragmatic about their own lives. The people who surrounded him must have been heroes. No one else would nod along with the old man telling them that they had to flawlessly execute the vaguest possible operation Jaune had even _heard of_.

Around him the students had started chatting. Chatting! Was no one else concerned? Did they all have some secret death-defying superpower that no one had thought to tell Jaune about? How were they so calm!? Jaune shook his head and started walking toward the fighters. He might as well try to figure out where the 'on' button was. He'd rather not die in the hangar if he could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a review asking me about the Brother Gods. I hope The OverSoul that is Oz gives you a good idea of where I'm planning to take the canon.
> 
> I am also being deliberately vague about Ozpin's origins, but I think there are enough hints in the chapter that Horus Heresy fans will be able to pick it out right away.
> 
> Also I have not seen a single fic explain why Qrow can turn into a bird. Obviously he doesn't turn into a bird in mine, but I thought the power definitely deserved and explanation. And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Raven. She will have her day in the sun.


	8. Initiation Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby makes a new friend. Pyrrha and Jaune ask pertinent questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright Ao3. We're all caught up. Which means that from this chapter forward you guys will be getting your own custom author's notes. Isn't that fun?
> 
> This chapter, much like chapter one, was originally two chapters. However they really do belong together, so I've taken the shift to a new site as an excuse to squish them together.

Yang sat in her fighter's cockpit and ran through the preflight check. It had been a minute since she'd flown a Lightning. Most of the sims on Patch had been for older model Furies or Starhawks. Compared to a Lightning she might as well have practiced flying bricks. The instrument panels were practically identical, which was nice, but her forward guns were in different spots and everything was _insanely_ sensitive. She could fly a Lightning, but she doubted she could pull any fancy tricks. She teased the yoke a bit and felt the whole fighter rock in its harness. Around her she could hear the curses of the flight crew as she no doubt knocked around some kind of sensitive instrument over.

Around her she could see the other Lightnings going through similar last-minute checks. Each was surrounded by scaffolds and swarming with teams of techs. All of them were suspended above the deck by a harness. Below them she could see the narrow trenches of the magnetic catapults. The moment they came out of the Warp the harness would detach and each Lightning would fall into the catapult's magnetic field and be flung out into the void at the speed of sound. The better to get them into combat without burning up precious promethium. Or, in the case of Atlas-Pattern Lightnings, without burning up Dust. Which was honestly obscenely expensive these days. Really. Three Thrones a vial? She was glad that she didn't have to buy her own ammunition.

Lightnings were void superiority fighters. A narrow profile, windswept wings, and an engine. Oh, and guns. Some pretty nasty guns. They were specialists, Furies and Starhawks could flex out of their standard roles in the battle line, but not so the Lightning. They killed other fighters, and that was it. Ozpin had said that they would get support, so Yang figured that he wanted the students in the flashiest fighters for the holovids, and from what she had gathered they wouldn't be expected to do any serious work in their fighters anyway. Most of the mission should take place on the defense stations. Which she knew absolutely nothing about, though judging by the voidsuits they had been issued she could expect to be fighting in hard vacuum. Which wouldn't be fun. Yang's favorite part of any good scrap was the sound, the grunts of falling opponents and the reports of her bolt pistols. Which made fantastic melee weapons by the way. There was nothing so satisfying as pistol whipping the smug look off of some melee specialists face. They never saw her coming. Everyone saw the girl with the two pistols and thought 'Oh I should get close! That'll win me the fight!' And just completely forgot that the pistols were essentially bricks that also happened to have barrels. Heh. Thanks Uncle Qrow.

She felt a jolt and looked up. The scaffolding was being detached and the flight crew was scattering. In front of her she could see the crew chiefs giving the pilots a thumbs up.

They would be dewarping soon.

This was going to be interesting. They weren't flying in formation, which honestly wouldn't be much of a problem once they really got out into the black but deploying en mass like this could result in some serious collisions while everyone tried to orient themselves. She wondered how Ozpin, or probably Ms. Goodwitch, was planning on handling it. It was all academic to her though. She knew she'd be fine. Though Ruby might have some trouble.

Yang pulled her headset tighter and fixed her flight goggles in place. She couldn't worry about her sister right now. If the people in charge thought Ruby was good enough then she was good enough. It was as simple as that. It was bad to go into combat with a head full of useless thoughts.

She shifted in her seat as the dewarp klaxon sounded across the hangar. Soon she wouldn't be able to hear anything other than her own breath and the soft static on her headset. That was the worst part about void combat. The silence. Sure, she might get target pings and lock alarms, but that was _all_ she was going to get. No smell, no taste no sound. It was all so sterile, so impersonal. There was a reason Yang had no interest in void combat. She needed the viscera of a fight. She needed to smell the blood and the Dust, she needed to _live_ the fight. You couldn't do that in a fighter. Sure, there was still the thrill of a good kill, but it was like watching someone else do all the work.

She just didn't like it. Let's leave it at that. Once she graduated, she planned to fight groundside until the day she died. If she never saw the void again it would be too soon. She ran her eyes over the instrument panel one last time as she felt the ship shudder.

They say that dewarp is different for everyone. For Yang it was always a relief. Like unclenching your jaw after a long day. It was a release from tension that you didn't even know was there.

She brushed her hair back and took a firm hold on the yoke. She tensed up. Ready for the g-force and the sudden absence of gravity that would follow. She tightened her harness and made sure that her hair wouldn't get in the way once it was free from the gravplating of the ships deck. She was ready. She was sharp. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears as adrenaline leaked into her system.

Nothing happened.

Yang looked around. At the absolute far end of the hangar she could see a group of ten fighters launch. And then another group. She did some quick mental math. She was nearly 200 fighters away. She sighed and leaned back. At this rate it was going to be a full three minutes before she got launched. Oh well, she could go over the instruments again.

/-/

Jaune sat in the cockpit of his fighter and watched death approach him step by step. He had figured out the on button. Or, more accurately, the techs had gotten tired of him fiddling with switches and turned on everything for him. Did they ask him if he knew how to fly? No. Did they ask him if maybe he shouldn't be in a cockpit about to be launched into an insanely hostile situation? No. Did they take his blatant incompetence as a sign that perhaps not everything was right with the obvious guardsman in a void superiority fighter? No. They just turned everything on for him and pointed out the yoke, as if he was such an idiot that he couldn't find it himself. That alone told him they knew there was a problem but did nothing.

Sometimes the Emperor was vindictive. This was almost certainly one of those times. Punishment for deserting? For running away from home? For maybe looking at Pyrrha a little too closely as she walked away? The Emperor could be mad at him for any number of things, but did he really have to punish him like this? Show him a way out, take it away, and then make him watch his death inch toward him? Yeah. He probably deserved it.

Jaune picked at the skintight voidsuit under his flak armor. He had never been in the void before. In fact, he had never even been out of gravity before. This would be a fun experience until someone noticed a fighter just drifting along in space and had him towed in. Then the inquisitors would do some of their famed inquisiting. That would not be fun.

Jaune felt a sudden lurch in his stomach as he was propelled forward. Thankfully the sheer amount of pressure on him held all potential vomit where it was. If Jaune had had the time or presence of mind, he would have thanked the Emperor for small mercies. As it was the time it took for him to go from more G force than he had ever felt in his life to absolutely no pressure at all was microscopic. One moment he was panicking in the hangar and the next he was staring into sheer black. The only sound was his own shaky breathing. His display showed a great red cog on its artificial horizon. He supposed that was where he was meant to go.

Jaune gently pushed the yoke forward. Forward, apparently, did not mean going forward. Rather it meant going straight down at speeds that would best be described as unsafe. If there had been gravity or, say, the ground, Jaune might have panicked even more. But as things stood, he was just facing another direction. And the only reason he really knew that was because the cog-marker was suddenly at the top of the screen rather than at the bottom. He pulled back on the yoke under the assumption that if forward meant down then back would mean up. This was probably correct. But what he didn't expect was the fighter's response to his sudden movement. Attitude thrusters fired on his wings and threw him into at tight backflip. Now he was just. Backflipping. At an absolutely stupid speed. He was really glad that there was no gravity out here. He nudged the stick lightly and pulled himself out of his drunken spin. He wasn't going anywhere near the target, but then again, he wasn't doing the space equivalent of a donut in front of an inquisitorial battleship. So, it was probably safe to say that his situation was improving. He really hoped no one was recording all of this.

Jaune looked at the array of switches across the fighter's dashboard. The only other vehicle he had ever driven had been the family Land Crawler back on Ansel. And the only switch that it had was for the headlights. Jaune wondered if his fighter had headlights. Probably. It _was_ dark in space. Jaune figured that he was dead anyway, so he might as well flick some of the switches and see what happens.

He reached forward and flicked a switch. Suddenly his headphones roared with static. Radio located. He flicked it off. Hmm. What next? As Jaune reached out to flick another switch his yoke gently angled itself on its own. The movement was so subtle that Jaune was certain he would have missed it if not for the sudden sight of a fighter in front of him. Had he toggled the autopilot? Did these things _have_ autopilot? Jaune supposed that it didn't really matter, he was following another fighter and they were both going in the right direction. Jaune didn't plan to spit on good fortune. So, he sat back in his seat and did his absolute best not to touch anything.

/-/

Ruby loved to fly. She was one of the first ones out and got a good look at the armada that was accompanying them. She could see little dots of light where wings upon wings of bombers were saturation bombing the great asteroids that held the Orks. She screamed toward the fight. Her mission dossier, which she had only found because she was looking for a good place to stash Crescent Rose, said that her target was Castrum Primary. It had its own hangar decks, and likely held one of the greatest concentrations of Orks. According to the scouts that had gone through the previous day to set the beacons, it was also the home of the Warboss of the asteroid field. Ruby suspected that most students were being sent there, as it was also projected to have a serious Grimm presence by the end of the operation.

She liked that they had given her a detailed dossier, but she didn't understand why Ozpin simply hadn't told them where the information was. Hers was in a sealed box underneath her seat, which had taken her a solid minute to jimmy open. Maybe she wasn't supposed to have it? Maybe it was a test? Well if it was a test she had passed, and she was about to show everyone that she could pass every single test thrown at her with flying colors, as long as that test came in the form of a fight. Or getting into places she wasn't supposed to be. Heh that was like the majority of inquisiting. She was going to be fine.

Ruby banked and flew over a formation of landing craft that were making their way toward a collection of asteroids that had been chained together and absolutely plastered with what could loosely be called 'guns.' That wasn't her target, but she still dipped her wings toward them as she made her way deeper into the field. Ruby loved Lightnings. She _loved_ going fast. And these things were the fastest things on the proverbial market. Lightnings also had another edge that Ruby was pretty sure applied only to her. She could reliably use her Semblance in them. It sort of made sense that her semblance could carry a whole fighter along with her when she jumped. After all, it carried her clothes, weapons, and sometimes her bags. She had tested it out on a few of the fighters back in Patch, with her Dad monitoring things of course. And she had discovered that the absolute limit of her semblance was a single man fighter, in anything larger her semblance simply wouldn't work, which was perfectly fine by Ruby. But only a Lightning had the sensitivity for her to feel comfortable jumping. Anything else just couldn't keep up with her reaction times. She had bumped into more than a few things to learn that lesson. But now she was in her element. In an insanely fast fighter moving faster than most unaugmented humans ever would and headed into an absolute nest of angry green mushroom men.

It was amazing how the promise of violence could clear the mind. Was that weird? Was it weird that she relished the idea of absolutely destroying some Grimm and Xenos? Probably. But it would feel _so_ good. Especially is she could show off in front of Weiss. See Miss Moneybags look down on her after she took down a Warboss single handedly.

On her display she noted two contacts that weren't sporting Imperial ID. She must be ahead of the rest of the assault. Everything from here on in was likely to be Orks and Grimm. Which was exactly what Ruby liked to hear.

She flicked the safety off of her lascannons and lined up her shot. The Orks hadn't even noticed her. In fact, it looked like they were fighting each other. Maybe they hadn't noticed the massive Imperial assault? She couldn't blame them. The void was big and Orks were dumb. Two quick bursts of las saw her flying through a cloud of debris instead of two hostile fighters. She was flying through relatively empty space, but she knew that wouldn't last for long. The Grimm would start appearing as soon as those landers hit the asteroids and armsmen started dying. Ruby didn't like to think about all the reasons that this asteroid field was going to be overrun with Grimm. The pain and fear of a slowly suffocating human drifting through space would draw them like moths to a flame. And the blood and fire of the assault was going to draw the Orks out in obscene numbers. Ruby hoped that when Ozpin had said 'support' he had meant a whole fleet. Because that's what they were going to need for her and the other initiates to make it out.

She didn't have to worry about that right now, though. All she had to do was get in, kill stuff, and let everyone else do their job. She had to trust that Ozpin and the Imperial Navy would be there to catch her if she fell.

The red cog on her display turned green, ahead of her she could see the small twinkle that must be the station. She had barely seen any Orks and she had been flying at top speed for almost five minutes and hadn't seen anything other than those two fighters. Where were the swarms of fighters? Where were the great hulks that the Orks called warpships? Where were the million toothy faces she had been expecting? Had they all been drawn off already? Had they just not noticed? Her dad had told her never to disrespect the Orks. He had told her that they were far more cunning than they seemed, but right now they _seemed_ to not be anywhere. They seemed to be completely ignoring an invasion that could best be described as 'titanic.' Maybe the Orks dad had fought had been smarter than these Orks. Because Ruby was pretty sure that these Orks didn't just seem dumb.

The station came into sight. It didn't look like a regular Imperial station. Imperial stations were great boxy fortresses that jutted out into the black. This one was different. It was slender, elegant even. It was like a top gently spinning on a black board. A wide disc made up the majority of its bulk. Below it she could see long vanes of metal. This station had probably been here since the four great stations were built. Long ago in the Dark Age. Hm. Ruby knew where the hangars would be on any given Imperial station. They were all exactly the same like that. But this was not a standard station, and her Lightning wasn't packing a cogitator strong enough to analyze the stations super structure for entry points. Which meant that she was going to have to do this by eye.

While the station looked small from where she was sitting, it was massive. Her dossier said to expect it to be inhabited by upwards of a thousand Orks. Hm. The scouts had obviously come here and planted the beacons for the assault, but they hadn't taken any scans of the station, and the Inquisition didn't have any on hand. That was odd. Ruby brushed it off, she had more important matters to attend to than why she didn't know where the hangars were. The fact of the matter was that she had to get inside and plant this chip that she had found with the dossier.

Ruby made a pass around the stations great dome, hoping to spot that promised hangars. Sadly, she had no such luck. She was going to have to do this the hard way.

She flicked on her Lightnings maglocks and set down on the dome. She checked the seals on her void suit before she depressurized the cockpit and pulled Crescent Rose out from under the seat. She was going to have to rely on blind luck for this. She unbuckled her harness and slowly pushed the canopy open. She couldn't make any mistakes. Her void suit didn't have maglocks, which meant that the slightest twitch could send her flying. She held tightly onto the Lightning and slowly crawled down to the surface of the station.

She powered on her scythes blade and slowly sunk it in to the metal skin of the station. Crescent Rose had never failed her. She liked to think that it was Mom's spirit watching over her. Crescent Rose had been made from the remains of her mom's scythe. When Ozpin had recovered it along with her body, he had made sure that the blade was brought back to its former glory. And the moment that Ruby had been tall enough to hold it, Ozpin had given it to her. It was the greatest gift she had ever received. It was a little piece of Mom that she got to carry with her wherever she went. And now they were going on their next adventure together.

/-/

Jaune stared at his hands. Or, more accurately, he stared at the tough plastic material that covered his hands. The voidsuit was tight against his body. It was uncomfortable. He wasn't chafing yet, but he was pretty sure that was only because he wasn't moving. Once he started working up a sweat Jaune was quite certain that he would prefer the cold dark of the vacuum to whatever swamp which would no doubt bubble into being under his suit. The suit itself culminated in a helmet with a faceplate. Which he had decided to wear the moment he had realized that there was only about an inch of armorglass between him and certain death. Now, wherever he looked his faceplate would throw up a targeting array and catalogue whatever he was looking at. At the moment, he was looking at his hands. Which the faceplate helpfully identified as, 'OBJ-CLAS: H4-N-D5.' At least, Jaune imagined this was helpful. He figured that whoever was trained to wear this suit and fly this fighter would find the constant influx of information extremely useful. That, or they'd know how to turn it off. As things were, Jaune found the headset to mostly be annoying. If he looked out into the void his faceplate would identify things that he couldn't even see. Just little strings of green numbers and letters floating over nothing. This got very annoying whenever he looked in the direction of the assault. Which just showed him a massive cloud of letters and numbers, which were practically indistinguishable from each other.

So Jaune stared at his hands. He stared at them and contemplated the yoke they rested on. It gently shifted on its own, minutely correcting his course to keep him alongside the mysterious second fighter. Jaune had decided that he or the flight crew must have done something to the fighter's machine spirit to make it want to join with others of its kind. It was the only rational explanation that he could think of. The other two options were that the fighter had somehow become sapient and decided to throw its odds in with literally anyone other than Jaune, which he couldn't fault, or that the person in the other fighter was somehow flying both of their fighters at the same time, which was probably impossible. Unless the other pilot was a techpriest or something. They could probably pull that off.

He tapped a slow beat on his thighs. It was a marching song that he had learned on the _Second Son_. It was a steady, relaxing, rhythm. Even if it reminded him of his all too recent past. He tapped and tapped. The clock in the corner of his helmets display told him that he had been 'flying' for about four minutes. Jaune was growing bored of staring at his hands. It's not that he was easily bored or had a short attention span. It's just that the corner of his mind that was loudly ringing alarm bells and screaming about his imminent doom couldn't quite be masked by the drumming of his fingers.

He really wished his fighter had a vox. If he only had something to listen to, he was certain that he could calm down. A part of his mind pointed out that his fighter _did_ in fact have a vox. And he even knew how to turn it on. Another, equally rational, part of his mind noted that this was not the kind of vox that had been requested by the brass. But was rather a vox that would probably force the brain into using the mouth. _Which_ , his mind gestured to several recent memories, _we as a collective have vowed never to do again_.

_This is true_ , his mind rebutted, _but consider_. With that statement the rational parts of his mind lapsed into silence and listened to the rest of his mind, which was busy screaming, banging on drums, and begging for them all to wake up and smell the firing squad.

_A fair point_ , his mind conceded. Jaune took his brain's counsel into consideration. His options were either to be left alone with his thoughts, or to turn on the vox and potentially make the situation worse. In the end it wasn't much of a choice. Jaune directed OBJ CLAS: H4-N-D5 to reach out and flick the switch which he knew controlled the vox. He was greeted by a wash of static. Well, that was better than silence, but not quite what he was expecting. Though he really wasn't sure what he _had_ been expecting. Jaune flicked the switch on and off a few times as he contemplated what he wanted. Did he want to talk to someone? Yes. Did he want to talk to anyone that this vox was likely to put him in contact with? No. What he really wanted was to curl up somewhere warm and complain to someone who cared. He knew he wasn't going to get that, so the next best thing would probably be information. There was no sense dying blind after all. Jaune looked up at the other fighter. It was above him and slightly ahead, weaving a gentle course through the Emerald Forest.

In the short moment it took his display the catalogue everything beyond the cockpit, Jaune was greeted by a beautiful sight. A stark silver fighter silhouetted against the distant sun. For a moment Jaune's mind was brought to standstill. Where he was and what he was doing overtook him. A human being, flying betwixt the stars. It had never occurred to him how vast the gulf separating him and his sole companion was. How impassable it should be. The only reasons the race of men could stride between the stars were the labors of their forebears. The sacrifice of the Emperor. The gifts of the Machine God. Without them humanity was nothing. And without them humanity would return to nothing.

Jaune had but a moment to ponder this before the far more present reality of his situation reasserted itself as a wall of text imposed itself over the silver fighter. The screaming of his mind, briefly shocked into silence, returned full force as he once again remembered _where_ he was and _who_ he was. And most importantly, who he was not. Jaune did his best to ignore his own panic as he carefully read the words floating around the fighter. He had hoped that his suit would tell him something useful. Instead all it gave him was a set of ever-changing coordinates, and something in degrees. Probably a vector? Pilots used vectors, right? That was a thing that Jaune was pretty sure he had learned at some point.

What Jaune had really hoped to find was some sort of frequency, or perhaps something as simple as a vox number. Sadly, this was not to be had. Bereft of options and motivation Jaune sat back in his seat and flicked the vox on and off, enjoying the tactile sensation of flicking a switch with a satisfying click. As he listened to the bursts of static, he thought he could hear a voice. He remembered vague stories he had heard from spacers about ancient vox transmitters and siren calls that could be heard in deep space. Maybe it was a siren trying to call him off into the void where he would slowly mummify, adding his voice to an unearthly chorus. Calling to unwary sailors for millennia to come.

"Can you hear me Jaune?" said a familiar voice over the vox.

Or it could be Pyrrha, that also worked.

Jaune left the vox on and hesitantly spoke into aether. "Pyrrha?"

" _There_ you are!" Her voice was filled with relief. Had she been worried about him? "I've been trying to contact you ever since I found you, but you wouldn't respond." She had found him? Was Pyrrha the other fighter that he'd been in formation with all this time? Jaune decided to ask her.

"Found me?" He asked instead. He mentally shrugged. Close enough.

"Found you." Pyrrha affirmed. There was something in her voice that Jaune couldn't quite identify. Figuring it out was made all the more difficult by the washes of static that threatened to overwhelm her every word. Jaune looked at the instrument panel in front of him for some sort of handy tuning knob. There were several. All maliciously unlabeled. What did a fighter need so many switches and knobs for anyway? It had an engine and guns. Surely it didn't take three unlabeled dials and an as-yet-uncounted number of unlabeled switches to control everything.

"Are you there Jaune?" Pyrrha asked. Jaune wasn't sure how long he had been looking at the switches and dials, but they were theoretically going into a combat scenario. Or were already in one. Jaune was unclear where the line was. He supposed that any down time would be cause for concern.

"I'm still here." He said. "How did you know where to find me?"

"All of our fighters have transponders." She said instantly. "That, and you were just sort of spinning in place off the _Beacon's_ bow."

Way to remind him of his most recent blatantly stupid stunt.

"Yeah…" Jaune said. Immediately recognizing that if Pyrrha saw him and _knew it was him_ then so did everybody else. Great. Maybe they would all be too polite to mention it. Or maybe they would laugh at him behind his back. Or may-

"Do you know how to fly, Jaune?" Pyrrha asked. Jaune looked out at the silvery fighter that was leading him through the asteroid field and considered his options.

"No." He said reluctantly.

"I didn't think so." Pyrrha's voice wasn't filled with malice or pity, but rather with relief. Relief? Why would she be relieved?

"Everything makes sense then." She went on. "You are a Guardsman; it would be madness to assume that you would be at all familiar with any aspect of void combat."

_Frakking spot on there_ , _Pyrrha_. Jaune's mind added but decided not to say.

"This mission feels strange." Pyrrha's voice grew speculative beneath the wash of static. "This feels like everything is a test. Every action we take is being judged, and information is being purposely withheld from us."

So Jaune's state of perpetual confusion was shared. That was good. But it was also very _very_ bad. If Pyrrha, his only friend and ally, had no idea what was going on, then it was very safe to say that nobody knew what was going on. If nobody knew what was going on, then how were they going to get out of this alive? Let alone succeed in the mission they were given.

"Have you looked underneath the pilot's seat?" Pyrrha asked.

He had not. Doing so would actually be quite difficult given the yoke between his legs and the general cramped nature of the cockpit. Jaune leaned forward and down, careful not to brush the yoke, and sent questing fingers into the tight space between his seat and the floor. His adventuring digits came across a monolith of black leather. He very slowly pulled the briefcase out from its lair and into the glow of his consoles.

"Judging by your breathing, I'd say that you've found it." Jaune jumped as Pyrrha's voice erupted from his helmet's speakers. In his surprise he brushed the yoke and knocked himself out of formation, only to find his fighter guiding itself back to Pyrrha's wing.

"I'll save you some time and tell you that the case's lock doesn't have a correct combination, you'll have to force it open. While you're doing that, would you mind listening to me?"

"Sure?" He said as they banked around a large asteroid and entered a field of open space. Jaune rasped his bayonet out of its sheathe and rammed it into the side of the briefcase. No sense in fighting with a lock when he could just cut through the material.

"This mission feels wrong. I know for a fact that most of the students here have only a rudimentary knowledge of flight at best. And there is information that has been redacted from the documents in the briefcase." Pyrrha's voice fought against the static as she speculated. "Not to mention that the dossier itself was inside a locked case with no combination. Why would they send us out into a battlefield full of orks and soon to be full of Grimm with only half-truths and vital information hidden from us?"

"Maybe it's a test?" Jaune said as he carefully extracted a sheaf of papers from the side of his briefcase.

"A test with our lives on the line? A test where failure means our own deaths and the deaths of the people around us?" Jaune knew that Pyrrha wasn't asking him these questions but felt obliged to answer anyway.

"The Inquisition is not known for giving a frak about people." He muttered as he flicked through the pages. He could see diagrams of a station, a pict of a dissected ork, a page full of numbers and frequencies, and several pages filled with densely packed paragraphs, presumably holding the details of their mission.

"We're supposed to read all of this?" Jaune muttered under his breath. Precious little time had passed since they had been launched into space. Jaune supposed that the students were meant to find the briefcase while they were still on board the _Beacon_. But why would they? Who would look under their seat prior to a combat launch?

"I think we're meant to skim it and spot the important information." Pyrrha said.

"But you just said that a lot of the important information is missing." Jaune stared at the pict of the dissected ork. It was massive. Nearly three meters tall. And judging from the tools splayed around the corpse it was not an easy thing to cut open. That boded poorly.

"Exactly. And have you noticed anything else strange?"

Jaune hadn't really had time to do much noticing, but he was pretty sure this question was rhetorical, so he held his silence and waited for Pyrrha to tell him what was wrong.

"The Emerald Forest is supposed to be overrun with orks. But we haven't seen a single one since the assault began."

/-/

Ruby drifted quietly through the halls of the station. Everywhere she could see signs of ork habitation. Toothy faces grinned at her from the walls. Daubed in substances she'd rather not think about. Doors had been ripped from their frames and replaced with flaps of leather. Ruby tried not to think about where the orks managed to find leather in space. Even the handholds along the edges of the hallway had been replaced with rusty pipes and bits of bone.

It was like the presence of the greenskins caused the station to decay at an accelerated rate. She hoped the cogitator core was still intact. The dossier said it was, but how would they know unless the scouts had made it all the way to the core? And if they had made it all the way to the core, then why didn't they just turn on the stations sleeping defenses themselves? Perhaps it was all part of the test. The students needed something to fight against after all. The station still had power, and according to her suit sensors the station still had atmosphere, but after taking a single breath of air that could best be described as 'fetid' she had made the executive decision to rely on her suit's recyclers until the last possible moment. If the lights were on and the scrubbers were cycling, the cogitator core was probably functional. Ruby doubted the orks could make a system intricate enough to keep the station running in its place.

She wrapped her fingers around something that was very definitely not a human femur and propelled herself forward. She was in the stations living quarters. Though there wasn't much living going on at the moment. She hadn't seen a single live greenskin since she had entered the station. This in itself was concerning. In fact, other than those two fighters she hadn't seen a _single_ greenskin since the assault had begun. She had seen corpses in various states of disrepair. Apparently the bigger orks ate the smaller orks and left the bits that they didn't want to hang in the air to slowly decay or be eaten by other, weaker, greenskins.

Ruby had seen plenty of those, and some of them were recent. She knew the orks were on the station somewhere, but she had no idea where they might be. A feeling in her gut told her that everything was about to go very wrong in a very explosive fashion if she didn't find out where all the orks had gone to. Ruby looked down at the schematics in her left hand and pondered where the orks would be. If they weren't in the living quarters, and some of their meals had clearly been interrupted, then they must have been gathered somewhere. Likely by their Warboss. If they had been gathered by their Warboss then they would be in a place with a lot of space. Most likely the mysterious hangars.

Ruby drifted further down the hallway toward where she knew the elevator shafts should be. The first thing she needed to do was to find a complete map of the station. After that all she needed to do was guess correctly and then go kill an ork Warboss who was most likely at the center of a thousand or more orks. Easy-peasy. What could go wrong.

Ruby tried not to think about all the things that would inevitably go wrong. What she focused on instead was finding a map. She drifted through the clouds of gently spinning corpses and filth until she reached the elevator shaft. Which, sadly, was in an even worse state. It was practically packed with the leavings of the stations orkish inhabitants. So packed in fact, that she could see the passage taken by the greenskins as they made their way to their mysterious gathering. Hm. Maybe she didn't need to find a map after all. If she just followed this trail downwards, she could probably pick up more signs of where they had gone as she went.

Crime-Buster Ruby was on the case.

She gently made her way down the elevator shaft. The time and care she had to take to avoid disrupting the trail really gave her time to think about what she was planning to do. She _knew_ the orks were up to something, it was the only reason for all of this strange behavior. And she also knew that she was probably the only one who had gotten to Castrum Primary so far. Which meant that whatever she was doing she was going to have to do alone. And what she was planning to do was something that most people would use an army for.

She was going to assassinate the Warboss.

It would have to be quick. She would have to get in and kill it before it even knew she was there. She would not be able to survive an extended fight with a Warboss. She knew that much. Orks were known for their brute strength and endurance. Ruby knew that her strengths were in speed and agility. Which meant that the moment the ork landed a hit, she was done for. All she had to do was not get hit. Not get hit by the either the Warboss or the horde of orks that no doubt surrounded him.

Simple.

As Ruby made her way deeper into the station gravity reasserted itself. She also began to hear a distant rumble. Voices, Engines, sometimes gunfire. Orks, it seemed, were not known for stealth. Which made her circumstances all the more pressing. As she got closer and closer the rumble of voices became more distinct until she could hear a single voice above all the others. It was shouting in a crude form of Low Gothic.

"Quiet you lot!" The voice shouted. This command was greeted by a chorus of groans and complaints. Another voice stood above the general grumbling.

"Why ain't we goin' to fight!" It accused. Many voices rumbled in agreement as Ruby made her way through the corridors towards the source of the noise.

"We ain't fightin' cuz I'z da Warboss an' I says we ain't fightin!" The voice roared back. "An' if you think you'z a bettah Warboss den me den why don't you jus' come up 'ere and try it!" This threat cowed the accuser into silence. Ruby rounded the final corner and was greeted by a sight that would have any sane, or less determined, person running in terror.

Before her was a sea of green. All focused on a single point. An ork with jet black skin stood on a wing of one of their crude fighters. This black ork must be the Warboss. Though Ruby had only heard of one black ork before. And that ork had been destroyed years before she was born. What was she looking at now then? Another black ork? What did that mean for the sector? Ruby was stunned by the implications as the ork continued its speech.

"We'z not fightin' cuz I gots a plan." The ork said to its now quiescent audience. "Da 'umie told me dis was comin. An' she told me exactly 'ow to use dis here skin 'o mine." The ork chuckled darkly as it looked out of the hangar toward the slowly advancing assault. "Da 'umies fink dat we'z gonna be fightin' dem _an'_ da beasties. But what dey don't know is dat da beasties are gonna fight for da orks!" The crowd of xenos let out a howl of triumph as the black ork slammed its fist into the fighter behind it.

"Quiet!" The black ork shouted again. "Lemme tell ya da plan ya gits!" The clamor died down, but the orks could not be brought back to complete silence with the prospect of bloodshed so near at hand. "We'z gonna let da 'umies fink it's safe to move up dat stonkin' great krooza. When dey do dat, us an' da beasties are gonna take it!" The ork raised its fists in the air. "Den We'z gonna WAAGH!" The excitement of the orks could no longer be contained. They began to leap, to hit one another, and to fire off their crude weapons completely at random. Heedless of their compatriots or the fragility of the station's artificial atmosphere.

The entire time the black ork had been, for lack of a better term, 'speaking', Ruby had been making her way around the edges of the hangar. She just had to get close enough to make a single jump. Jump in, kill the ork, jump out. It was a simple plan. She barely even had to sneak with all the excitement the crowd was causing. She was almost there now. She readied Crescent Rose and quietly thumbed its power switch. One strike. That's all it would take. Like the reaper from her childhood stories Ruby leapt forward, already swinging her scythe toward the ork's exposed neck.

One moment she was hidden in the shadows that dominated the edge of the hangar. The next she was in full view of the orkish horde, bringing her blade down on their leader's neck. All she had to do was connect. Crescent Rose could cut through anything. This would work. This would work. This would work-

Her blade stopped a hair's breadth from its intended target. Ruby looked down to see a fist as black as midnight wrapped around the haft of Crescent Rose.

"You thought I didn't see you?" The Black Ork's voice had changed. No longer was it the moronic grunting of a beast pretending to be a man. It was instead the voice of a man charged with hatred. The voice of a man who saw the world around him and could find nothing redeemable. It was a voice of barely constrained rage tinged with disgust.

"You thought I didn't see you." It repeated, its red eyes staring deeply into Ruby's own. "You thought that speech was for _them_ didn't you." The Black Ork spat the word. "You thought I was laying out a plan for their benefit? You couldn't tell that my eyes were on you from the moment you entered this room?" Disgust took the fore as the Black Ork drew Ruby closer. "You're going to watch your warships burn little human. But first, I think some sport is in order." He threw Ruby to the ground and pinned both her and Crescent Rose beneath his boot.

"Lookit dis ladz!" It cried, turning to face its horde. "Da 'umies 'ave sent an assassin! A cutthroat wigglin' in da dark!" The orks roared their displeasure. They called out potential punishments for her. Torture in various forms, mostly. Though one particularly creative ork wanted to mount her on the front of the Warboss's fighter like some crude hunting trophy.

Ruby wasn't really listening. Not that she could have heard them over the sound of her own heartbeat anyway. She was more focused on getting her scythe and herself free from under the Black Ork's boot.

"I fink we should see 'ow the 'umie fights!" The Black Ork shouted over the commotion. "I fink we should 'ave a good warm up 'fore dat krooza gets 'ere!" The Black Ork picked up its own wicked axe as it said this. "Clear some space ladz! I'z gonna test dis 'umie meself."

The orks quickly formed a rough circle in the center of the hangar. The Ork lazily tossed Ruby into the center and leapt down behind her.

"Here I come little human." It growled as it charged forward and Ruby rapidly backpedaled. She could try to leap out, but she couldn't see anything behind the wall of green that encircled her. She would have to fight it. And she would have to fight it perfectly. She had felt the strength of its hands and seen the malice behind its eyes. It was going to try to toy with her before it finished her off. That was probably her only saving grace. It wouldn't want to kill her immediately. It would want to punish her for insulting its intelligence.

She leapt back as its double headed axe bit deeply into the station's steel floors.

Or it was going to kill her as quickly as possible. Great.

She dodged to the left, forcing the Black Ork to turn with her. If she went left, then it wouldn't be able to swing easily. And she was fast enough to run into the arc of it's falling axe and get away with it. The Black Ork closed quickly, forcing her towards the wall of greenskins. She couldn't keep giving ground and she didn't have any time to play for. She had to kill this ork now and disrupt its plans, or the entire sector would be at risk.

The Black Ork knew this, but rather than playing with her or enjoying its helpless kill, it came at her with full killing intent. The Ork may have called it sport, but that apparently didn't mean it was going to hold back. She was going to have to pull out all the stops to win this, and she had to win it quickly.

She spotted a clear spot on the other side of the arena and teleported. She was behind it now. All she had to do was jump again and this would be over. She turned to leap back and strike it's defenseless back only to meet its red eyes.

"Interesting." It said. "So, what the human said was true. The ones aboard that ship are indeed beyond the scope of the average human." It grinned at her as it began to circle to the left. "Very good. I have grown so bored of snapping the spines of the mundane."

Its reaction times were at least as fast as hers. It was stronger than her. And if its voice was any indication, it was probably smarter than her. Ruby knew she was hopelessly outclassed. Which meant that all she had on her side was desperation and agility. Not a very potent mix considering she was facing down the Orkish equivalent of an Astartes.

The Black Ork charged again, attempting to pin her against its lesser cousins. She ducked out of the way and swung her scythe. If she couldn't end this fight in a single blow, then she'd have to end it in a thousand. The Ork looked mildly surprised at the small wound on its arm. Nothing more than a nick really. It quickly stopped bleeding.

"A war of attrition, human?" It asked as it once again began to circle. She matched it step for step and waited for another opening. "I do hope you realize that this is a fight you can never win." It grinned again. "Your audacity is admirable. And your stupidity is deplorable. To think my race has been held back by the likes of you." It charged again, axe cleaving through the air as it closed the distance. Ruby saw her opening. She feinted left, forcing the Black Ork to shift its charge to catch her. With its attention well and truly caught she blinked above it and brought her scythe down viciously.

The sound of the Black Orks hand falling to the deck was completely drowned out by its screams of rage. She blinked back to the ground and spun to face him. But what she saw was not at all what she expected to see. She had expected to see a furious ork missing a hand and a bloody trophy leaking onto the deck of Castrum Primary. The bloody hand was exactly where she had expected it to be. But everything else about the scene was wrong. What she saw instead was a furious ork with both of its hands. But one of them seemed to be composed from the void itself.

The Black Ork roared and charged her nearly faster than she could see.

_Oh_.

It _had_ been holding back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to see you all this coming Sunday (The 23rd) with the conclusion to Initiation.


	9. Swansong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. It's me. Back again with the conclusion to the initiation arc. It's a bit long as a sort of apology for missing like, 3 Sunday's. Also before we begin I have a thing.
> 
> I'm considering starting a second RWBY fic based on the World of Darkness RPG system. Let me know if you guys would be interested in something like that. I promise that if I do start writing it the schedule, or lack thereof, of AGF will not be affected.

Captain Song stood on the bridge of the _Iskandar_ and gazed over the Emerald Forest. It was unimpressive. By Song’s reckoning the greenskin threat had been grossly overrated. The rabble that her armsmen had dug out of their holes had not been worth the force committed. Two battle cruisers and their escorts paired with Ozpin’s behemoth of a ship. Half a million men brought to bear in crew alone, not to mention the veritable legion of armsmen that were combing the asteroids for orks to slaughter. It was all an egregious waste of time and resources.

Captain Song Huilan clasped her hands behind her back and watched her bridge crew conduct pest control. This was not a battle worthy of her _or_ her ship. The _Iskandar_ was an ancient and respected warship with so many honors attached to its name that an entire deck had been set aside as a memorial hall. And she was one of the finest officers ever to graduate Mistral academy. She was one of the best leaders in command of one of the most respected ships in the sector and she was conducting _pest control_. Or, more accurately, she was watching Ozpin and his horde of children take what little glory there was for themselves.

She had been staring out of the bridge viewport since the culling had begun. She simply had nothing better to do. The was nothing that merited her attention. Her fighters were sweeping forth unopposed, her armsmen had thoroughly culled the greenskins from their holes in the outer asteroids. Ozpin’s intelligence had warned them to expect stern resistance in the form of orkish cruisers and ship-killers emplaced along the outer asteroids. These dire projections had not come to pass. Captain Song suspected that Ozpin’s warnings were the capstone to ten years of stalling. This asteroid field and its inhabitants had never been a threat. It would have been madness to let any sizable threat grow near one of the great stations. Ozpin just wanted to show off his precious battleship.

Captain Song had no real issue with this. She understood the necessity of pomp and circumstance. She understood that this little cull would do wonders for civilian morale. Another way to show that humanity had firmly rebounded from the depredations of Grimmfist. Captain Song even admired Ozpin’s sheer stubbornness in delaying this cull as long as he had. Holding off both the station council and the Schnee could not have been an easy fight, especially over the course of ten years. But Oz had kept them in check and bought himself a day in the sun. Captain Song appreciated this. What she did not appreciate was her involvement. Lionheart had diverted her from her patrol of Mistral’s outer colonies as, ‘a show of friendship and solidarity.’ Which she had begun to suspect was his way of saying, ‘a massive waste of time.’ She did not appreciate that she had been pulled from the frontline to act as Ozpin’s cheerleader. She did not appreciate Ozpin completely ignoring her presence. A visiting captain on a diplomatic mission should have been greeted with a feast and honors. Instead she was voxxed her place in the battle-line and told when the operation was slated to begin. That was it. A month of travel. Colonies left defenseless. Her entire tour of the Wild Stars diverted. All for a brusque communique and a place in a pointless battle-line.

Captain Song was not a young or rash woman. She and the _Iskandar_ had been together for nearly twenty years. She did not have to prove her worth because she had proven herself a hundred times over. She was renowned as a line-breaker. Her ability to place herself in the absolute best possible position was a fact that the textbooks of the great academies referred to time and time again. She was not young. She was not rash. And really, in any other situation, she had nothing to prove. But right now, she was fuming. She had been insulted and ignored. She stood on the bridge and contemplated every single invective she would hurl at Ozpin and Lionheart the moment this pointless chore was over with. She would chew them out like a sergeant on the first day of boot. She would destroy both of them for _daring_ to pull her from her task just to snub her and make her watch as teenagers did all of the work.

Oh, Ozpin could have his day in the sun all he wanted, but he was going to feel the heat of her fury for every second she had to endure staring at this infuriating asteroid field.

“Captain.” Her second stood a respectable distance behind her. He could read her mood as easily as she could read this barren battlefield. Her crew knew her well. And they all knew that to bother her right now was to invite a summary execution.

“What.” She didn’t quite snap. Officers never snapped. Captain Song firmly believed that officers must be rocks of calm in the turbulent river of battle. And while what was taking place before her was closer to a live fire exercise than a battle, she held true to her sense of professionalism.

“An Orkish warship has been sighted, ma’am.” He informed her just loud enough for the deck officers around them to hear. He would make a fine captain someday. Just like all of the officers that had served on her bridge. He understood that command was essentially theater. And he knew exactly how this script was going to go.

“Tonnage and bearing?” She asked, again just loud enough for the immediate officers to hear over the general rumble of the bridge. From the corner of her eye she could already see the Master of Helm plotting a heading.

“Cruiser weight ma’am. Headed for the outer Mandeville point. On the other side of the Emerald Forest.” The general tone of the bridge was shifting now. Shifting from quiet reports and orders to a far more active tone. In front of her she could see the Master of Vox preparing his minions to recall their fighters. At any other time, it would hurt her to know that she was so predictable.

“What is the status of the offensive?” She had to perform first. They all knew the outcome of this conversation, but they still had to follow the steps of the dance.

“All fronts are green and ahead of schedule ma’am. Tactical expects that any meaningful resistance will be crushed within the hour.” As if any of the resistance so far could be called meaningful.

“Hm.” She pretended to consider. “I think that the _Beacon_ and the _Timeless Father_ have the situation well in hand, wouldn’t you agree Mr. Black?”

“If it were my place to say so, ma’am.” Mercury stood stiffly, waiting to carry out the orders he knew would follow.

“Inform the _Beacon_ of our intent to hunt.” She said loudly. “And if they have any response, our vox was damaged in the fighting.” He nodded eagerly and rushed off to spread the good news. She liked to think she could feel the deck shudder as the _Iskandar_ began its headlong charge through the Emerald Forest.

/-/

The deck shuddered as the Black Ork’s axe cleaved through the place Ruby had occupied a moment before. To say that her situation had deteriorated would be an understatement. She couldn’t keep up this speed forever. Using her Semblance was draining. And right now, it was the only thing keeping her alive. The Black Ork was furious. And that fury had either lent it an incredible amount of strength and speed, or it had simply decided not to play with its food. Really it didn’t matter which, because right now her life was on a timer. Because around her the circle of orks was slowly closing, and soon she wouldn’t have anywhere to run to. She might be able to blink onto the fighter, and from there she could blink out of the hangar and buy herself some precious time. But if she did that then the Black Ork would be free to go through with its plans, which was something that she absolutely could not allow. If she ran now thousands of people would die.

Which meant that she had to win.

The deck shuddered again as she blinked out from under the falling axe. The Black Ork wasn’t talking to her anymore. In fact, it hadn’t made a sound since she had cut its hand off. It didn’t demand that she hold still. It didn’t tell her about the inevitable doom that she and her kind would suffer. It wasn’t even breathing heavily. It moved in near complete silence as it drove her backward into the ever-tightening ring of Orks. The axe clanged against the deck plating again as Ruby barely dodged death. She didn’t have an opening to attack. Its reaction times were too fast. It was too strong. It was too smart. She needed a plan. She needed time.

She didn’t have time. She didn’t have a plan.

Well. Maybe she had a plan. It was a really stupid plan. But the Black Ork was super smart, so maybe the sheer stupidity of her plan would throw it off. Maybe, just maybe, Crime-Buster Ruby could quickly transition to Master-Gladiator Ruby. She blinked behind the Black Ork as her mind raced with the possibilities. Oh, this plan was dumb. Really, _really_ dumb. But her options right now were dumb or dead. And she was pretty sure that dumb was better.

So, she could bring stuff with her when she teleports, right? Wouldn’t it make sense, then, that she could _leave_ stuff? Heated combat with a twelve-foot-tall pile of muscle and anger was probably not the best time to experiment with her Semblance. And that wasn’t even the stupid part.

She could see what the Black Ork was going to do with its next swing. The only place she had left to go was behind it, so it was going to cleave around in a circle to catch her when she blinked. If it wasn’t for her stupid plan this attack would absolutely kill her. As things stood it would only _probably_ kill her. Which was an improvement.

She blinked twice. The first time was to separate her body from her cloak. The second was to vault her over the Ork’s head and wrap her cape over its eyes. And Yang had told her that capes were dumb and useless. Phase One success. Master-Gladiator Ruby was totally going to be a thing. Now it was time for the dumb part.

Her cape trick was only going to blind the Black Ork for a second. And really, there wasn’t much she could do with that. The Ork was already falling into a defensive pose as it reached up to rip her cloak away from its eyes. Which meant she needed to buy herself more time.

She brought her scythe down and decapitated the nearest ork which formed her living prison.

That was the dumb part.

With the unspoken compact that the Warboss had put into place broken, the orks around her surged forward to take a swing at Ruby. And the Warboss couldn’t see them to stop it in time.

Sure, she had traded one enemy for a thousand and one enemies, which in most circles would be regarded as, ‘a blindingly stupid move.’ But here’s the thing. Ruby could _beat_ these orks. She could carve through them like a power sword cuts through flak armor. Sure, she wouldn’t be able to keep it up. Sure, she was already exhausted. And sure, she was oh so _very_ dead. Probably in the next few minutes. But right now, all the orks were focused on her. They had a target, something to kill. And despite the Black Ork’s startling intelligence, she was pretty sure that orks on a whole were still stupid. Which meant that until she was dead the Warboss probably wouldn’t be able to go through with his big trap.

Ruby: 1

Big Stupid (but actually really smart probably) Ork: 0

All that screaming and gunfire? The sound of bullets whizzing past her and inevitably hitting other orks? That was the sound of victory. Because she really hadn’t been Gladiator-Ruby at all. She had been Unreasonably-Smart-(and also super attractive)-Mastermind Ruby all along. If she had the time, she would probably let out a megalomaniacal laugh in triumph. But as things stood, she had a _lot_ of stuff trying to kill her.

She blinked up onto the fighter where the Warboss had been giving its speech and got a good look at the hangar. Or, more accurately, she got a good look at the sea of aircraft that filled up the hangar. Or, even _more_ accurately, she got a good look at the ships that were already launching themselves out into the void. She was suddenly even more glad that she had decided not to die to stop the trap. Because apparently it was happening regardless. She was still ahead though. Half of the orks were busy chasing her instead of killing the other students and imperials in the asteroid field. Which was probably a net win. Ruby was pretty sure that anyone other than her would not look at the horde of screaming savages shooting at her as a good thing. But then again, a lot of people didn’t have perspective. Ruby always had perspective. Ever since she was little, she had understood exactly what the game she was signing up to play entailed. Did she have a death wish? Absolutely not. And really, deep in her heart of hearts, Ruby was sure she would make it through everything alright. After all, the hero always made it. And in this situation, she could not be more the hero if she had a cape. Which she had sadly lost. Speaking of her missing cape, the Black Ork did not look pleased.

/-/

Weiss liked to think she was a woman of perspective. She had been raised from a young age to take the long view of things. She did not plan in terms of days or months, she planned in terms of years and decades. It was part of being a Schnee. Although a complete lack of humanity and a total willingness to overlook such petty scruples as ‘morality’ and ‘common decency’ were also part of being a Schnee. She supposed she was a failure in that regard. She was certain Father blamed the nannies and butlers that had so obviously lead her away from the proper Schnee view of life. But then again Father had always been too busy weaving his plots across the sector and dancing for advantage with the other people of power to really give a thought to such common trivialities as his own children. But, despite her supposed failings, Weiss excelled in the long view. She excelled in predicting movements and trends that would take years to really come into being. If she was given enough data Weiss was quite certain she could accurately predict the state of the sector a century down the line. Weiss held the long view and the ability to match. And right now, what her view was telling her was something that she couldn’t quite believe.

In front of her was a horde of orks. Which, in and of itself, was unsurprising. What _was_ surprising was the little girl who was blatantly taunting them as the horde did its very best to kill her. Weiss watched in jaw dropped amazement as Ruby blinked around the edges of the hangar and taunted a legion of eight-foot-tall killing machines into greater heights of fury than she had ever believed possible. Weiss quickly remembered that a Schnee did not allow her mouth to gape like a slack-jawed commoner and brought her teeth together with a sharp click. This did not lessen the shock that had taken hold of her. In fact, her trance was only broken as the girl ran past her at a speed more commonly associated with aircraft.

“HiWeissbyeWeiss!” Ruby said as she flew past her. Or that was Weiss had thought she had heard. It was really hard to hear over the impact of bullets and the roars of dismay that followed the fleeing girl. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, Weiss and the orkish horde stared at one another. If either side had had a second more to react, they might have blinked at one another in surprise. But as things stood, the orks we not deep thinkers. And the appearance of another girl did little to slow them down. If anything, they redoubled their effort as the raced for the doorway she presently occupied.

Weiss, on the other hand, was a deep thinker. And in the blink it took for her to act she indulged herself in a very human pastime. As certain death crashed toward her she could not help but ask _why._ Why what exactly? That was not very important to Weiss at the moment. It was the ingrained human response when faced with the ludicrous. Perhaps it was the presence of a child. Or perhaps it was the wall of meat and stupidity bearing down on her. Perhaps it was just the sheer madness of watching a child court death like a noble’s son at a gala. A flash went by as Weiss pondered these variables. Until somewhere within her a voice firmly reminded her that a Schnee did not sit dumbly and question the situation before her. A Schnee acted. And so act she did.

A wall of ice quickly built itself between her and the oncoming wall of muscle. She knew it wouldn’t last long. This was reinforced as the ice began to crack almost immediately under the impacts of charging orks. Weiss took this as her queue to follow Ruby’s path through the station. She moved quickly, but not without caution and foresight. At every juncture she threw up walls of ice in all four directions. She figured the time and Dust lost would more than make up for itself if she managed to delay or throw off the orks.

Seals formed beneath her feet as she practically flew after Ruby. The Schnee family Semblance was extraordinarily useful. There were many rumors that the Dynasty was tainted by the psyk. How else could you explain a Semblance that allowed for gravitic manipulation, summoning, _and_ temporal manipulation? Not to mention the ubiquitous ice that followed in the tracks of all the Schnee? The thin veneer of ‘Dust manipulation’ had never satisfied her peers or the inquisition. And if it wasn’t for their status as a rogue trader dynasty, as well as the fact that the entire sector depended on them for its continued survival, Weiss was quite certain that she and her sister would have been quietly forced aboard the Black Ships a long time ago. As things stood Weiss and Winter could only walk free due to Father’s influence. The price paid was a close adherence to the Imperial Creed and following the words of the _Lectitio Divinitatus_ to the letter. Such constant and perfect piety was the collar that Weiss bore in the place of the very real collar that bound sanctioned psykers to the cages the Imperium kept them in.

These were the thoughts that always hung in the shadows of her mind. Even as Weiss chased after Ruby every seal she threw down reminded her that if she had been born to a less fortunate station she would have been caged as a monster and lived a short life of torture and pain. It should be understandable then, that when she caught up with Ruby at the edge of the stations gravitic zone she was more than a little unhappy. In fact, she was livid.

“What did you do!?” She cried as she caught up to the smaller girl. Ruby had stopped to breathe. She looked exhausted, drained. Weiss was astounded that the younger girl could even stand, let alone speak.

“I was, hah, buying time.” Ruby panted.

“You call antagonizing an entire hangar full of orks, ‘buying time!?’” Weiss panted back. Ruby wasn’t the only one out of breath. Both of them had sprinted at top speed down the station’s corridors. And while Weiss was quite certain she was in peak physical condition, using her Semblance for such an extended period of time was draining.

“Well, it was more like antagonizing _one_ ork.” Ruby said as she caught her breath. “The rest were just a bonus!” Ruby sounded entirely too happy about the situation. While her happiness wasn’t infectious, Weiss _was_ having a hard time staying angry. If only because her mind was already racing with thoughts of their next move. The idea that Ruby wasn’t now directly under her command didn’t even cross Weiss’s mind.

“Whatever idiocy you were conducting does not matter now. We have to complete our objective and get off of this station.” Weiss did her best to project authority into her voice as she started to head toward the elevator.

“We can’t!” Said the little girl from behind her. “We have to go back and fight them!”

“We most certainly do not.” Weiss said. The key to command was calm. She was not going to argue with a child, she was simply going to override her and bring Ruby back into line. Since the girl clearly didn’t understand their situation.

“We do!” Ruby said emphatically. “We have to keep them distracted so that they don’t capture the _Beacon_!” Weiss raised an eyebrow in a gesture of cynical disbelief.

“What we need to do is carry out the headmaster’s mission and extract ourselves before this station is overrun with Grimm.” Weiss had seen hundreds of other students making their entrance into the station on her way in. She had no doubt that some of them were going to fall to the orks, and once there was blood in the void escape would be nearly impossible. They would either have to wait in the station with the orks as the imperial fleet crept its way across the Emerald Forest or they would have to make their escape through a sea of Grimm. Both of these problems could be avoided, however, if they simply acted fast.

“You don’t understand!” Ruby said. “There’s a Black Ork back there, everything is a trap! The entire fleet is going to be overrun!”

A Black Ork? Not likely. More like the stress-induced visions of a child thrown into a combat situation she was clearly unprepared for.

“We do not have time to discuss your delusions Ruby. We have to move now if we want to have a reasonable chance of making it out alive.”

The younger girl set her shoulders and shook her head.

“I’m going to keep their attention away from everyone else. You can do what you want.” With that Ruby turned and headed back toward the trouble they had so recently escaped.

Weiss groaned internally. She couldn’t just let a child in her care wander off to die at the hands of xenos. Curse her charitable nature. She could already see exactly how this was going to go. The girl was going to get the both of them overrun in her suicidal crusade to outwit an enemy with the intellect of a brick. She didn’t understand that no one could outsmart a brick. The more you tried to think your way around it the closer it flew to your teeth. Until all you had to your name was an extremely painful lesson and a feeding tube.

“What is your plan?” Weiss asked Ruby’s back.

Ruby stopped and turned sheepishly back to Weiss, “I, uh, don’t really have one.”

/-/

The Emerald Forest was relatively small in astronomical terms. Millenia of human mining and the more recent orkish occupation had brought many of the larger asteroids closer together than they ever would be naturally. And while it was relatively small it would still take several hours for the _Iskandar_ to make her way around it. Which meant that Captain Song had to forge a path directly through the asteroid field if she as to have any hope of bringing that feeling cruiser to battle.

“Master of Helm, adjust Y angle by three degrees.” Her voice rang across the bridge as she turned from her place on the viewing deck and made her way back to her command throne. The ship tilted ever so slightly as thirty thousand men and millions of tons of adamantine bent to her will.

It was easy to forget, standing on her polished bridge, that she was in command of what was essentially a city. Below the command decks there were barracks for armsmen, barracks for the engine crew, barracks for the serfs, mess halls, recreational facilities, decks filled with merchants, gardens, and cargo holds that had been converted to shanty towns by the families of the ship’s serfs and unofficial hangers-on. Captain Song herself had been born in such a shanty a long time ago. She attributed her birth and early life aboard a voidship to be the key to her success as an officer. She could feel the gentle thrum of the _Iskandar_ ’s great engine stacks beneath her feet, and often she could sense a problem with her engines long before her ships tech-priests could detect it. She could feel the minute tilt as the ship’s gravity plating made micro-adjustments to keep the ship’s gravity level as they wove their way through the asteroids. The void was her home. And the _Iskandar_ was an extension of herself. 

Some might think that her feeling that the _Iskandar_ was an extension of herself to be a mere fanciful metaphor. But for the captain of and Imperial starship it was all too true. At the base of her skill was a surgical implant that allowed her to plug directly into the _Iskandar’s_ noosphere. When she took her seat on the command throne, she quite literally _became_ her ship. Only herself, Mr. Black, and the Master of Helm possessed such implants, the better to avoid mutiny. The ship could still be piloted without them, but at a terrible cost to efficiency. The power of an entire warship flowing through her mind made her confident. Perhaps overconfident. But only because she knew that there was nothing here that could threaten her or her ship.

Many would think her foolish for bringing the _Iskandar_ and her escorts directly through a hostile asteroid field. And most of the time they would be right. But they were not privy to the information she held. Or, rather, the information she believed she held. Song Huilan was not a fool. She understood that she had left the imperial battle line behind, which was a reckless and dangerous thing to do. But she was not in command of some primitive warship blindly negotiating its way through a reef as its crew stared nervously into unknown depths. She could see everything that was happening in the void around her. She could see where her fighters were sweeping the nearby asteroids for orkish emplacements. She could see where her assault craft were slowly making their way back to the safety of the _Iskandar’s_ hangars. And she could see the utter lack of resistance around her.

She was certain that the _Iskandar_ alone was more than enough to perform this meaningless culling. She had fought orks before, and she was certain she would fight orks again. During any given assault the orks would commit everything they had to the front. Orks did not hold troops in reserve, orks did not bait the enemy into an encirclement. Orks flew at their enemy with all the cunning and grace of a half-brick in a sock. Captain Song knew this from years of experience. She considered for a moment that the cruiser she was running down could be bait to lure her into a trap, but she just as quickly dismissed it. Years of experience and training told her that what she was seeing was a fleeing lieutenant. Some ork that saw its chance to escape from the beneath the yoke of its hated Warboss.

It was this confidence, this certainty, that would doom her.

“How fares the assault, Mr. Black?” She said as she mentally surfaced from a sea of auspex data.

“Vox is spotty out here ma’am. There’s radiation interference.” Mercury dutifully reported. At any other time, he would be on the battle bridge, ready to take over in the case of her death or the destruction of the primary bridge. Captain Song had decided the forgo these measures. There was no danger here, and it was best the Mercury observe her in command during a combat situation. He was still young, only in his mid-twenties, he had a lot to learn before he graduated from her bridge into a command of his own. And this was a rare moment for him to observe a veteran Captain in a combat scenario.

They observed the activity on the bridge from their island of calm. It was invigorating to see such energy and professionalism.

Her world rocked as alarms screamed and klaxons blared. In front of her blast shields slammed in to place over the bridge viewports, brutally cutting off the soft starlight and leaving only the harsh glare of the bridge lumens in its place. A spike of pain tore through her head as her neural implant was ripped from her skull. And at the same time, almost unnoticed, she felt a slight prick on her arm.

Spit bubbled from her lips as she tried to demand a status report from her shaken crew. Her mind was clouded with pain and the sudden absence of data. It was like being suddenly blinded, like a part of her had been violently stolen away.

“Asteroid collision along the engine stacks!” Came a voice from below her. She dimly recognized it as the Master of Serfs.

“Boarders reported on multiple decks!” came another voice. She thought it was the Master of Arms.

She was confused, disoriented. She had to steel herself and push through the pain. She looked up from the deck into the cold eyes of Mercury Black. The deck? Why was she on the deck? Her head hurt. She couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she move? She saw his lips move, but she couldn’t understand him. The world was hazy as she fought for consciousness. She saw him grin as everything faded to black.

/-/

 _Too easy_. Mercury thought to himself as the stuck-up bitch died is his arms. She wasn’t physically dead, but the neurotoxin he had administered would ensure that she would never return to any meaningful form of consciousness. A tragic accident. An officer suffering brain-death from a sudden disconnection from her MIU. Uncommon, but not unheard of. It had all been too easy. Goading this bitter old cow to her ‘tragic’ death had been the simplest assignment he had ever received. It had only taken a few choice words and some careful omissions.

“Oh, my apologies Lord Inquisitor. The Lord-Captain is indisposed, she will be unable to attend your banquet.”

“No, ma’am. Nothing from Ozpin but these coordinates and time-tables.”

From there all he had to do was let her rage and pride blind her to the trap. Now he just had to make sure that his useless subordinate made sure that phase two went off without a hitch.

“The Captain is unconscious!” He called out to the bridge. He needed a bit of panic, enough of a delayed response for the orks to get a solid foothold wherever they had boarded.

Using orks as the gears of a plot was always a tricky thing. You couldn’t really manipulate them, but you _could_ rely on them to attack the first thing that moved. Cinder had made sure that the orks weren’t immediately destroyed, and he had made sure that his idiot captain had blundered her way into their half-baked trap. Honestly, things were going better than expected.

“We need a medicae team to the bridge now!” He heard panicked tones as his words rang across the bridge. The drones were scared now. The queen was down, and they didn’t know what to do. This was good. It meant no one was responding to the orks that were no doubt swarming the lower decks. He was certain that no security teams had been dispatched yet. Mostly because the real Master of Arms had suffered a tragic case of catastrophic organ failure this morning when he had stepped out of the bridge to attend to a disciplinary matter with a certain green-haired crewwoman.

No one was going to find his body.

He looked over to where Emerald stood inside the old bastard’s skin. It was nice to have a shapeshifter around. It made things so much easier. He counted patiently in his head.

A second explosion rocked the ship as several key parts of the warp-drive underwent rapid unplanned disassembly.

Oh, this was all going perfectly.

Mercury stood up from the body of his ‘wounded’ captain and took command of the situation.

“Master of Arms, stand by to repel boarders!” He shouted. Emerald saluted him stiffly and stepped away to rally the ships defenders. Oh, that had to hurt her pride. He was going to hold that salute over her for weeks.

“Master of Serfs! I want the guns run out and the voids up!” He was clearly just a young commander in over his head giving out obvious orders. Definitely not an assassin. Nope, not him. No need to look over here, no need to concern yourself with the senseless body on the floor. She would probably be fine. Everything was totally fine. Nothing suspicious at all going on.

“Commander Black!” came a voice from below him. It was the Master of Vox.

“We have a transmission coming over a restricted frequency from Castrum Primary!”

Oh, did we now?

“Put it through to my commbead.” Mercury called down. It was probably his next set of orders. Cinder was nothing if not punctual.

“This is, uh, Lord-Overseer Arc calling to all Imperial forces.”

Who?

“There is a confirmed Black Ork aboard Castrum Primary. I repeat, A Black Ork has been confirmed on Castrum Primary.”

Well. He couldn’t ignore that, now could he? After all he _was_ the nearest friendly ship. And a Lord Overseer sounded pretty important. Important enough that if he offed this guy Cinder would probably forgive him for blowing up her new toy.

“New orders!” He bellowed. “Bring the long guns to bear on Castrum Primary. Fire for effect!”

/-/

Jaune and Pyrrha’s insertion into Castrum Primary had been. Unconventional. In fact, insertion might be too precise of a word. If Jaune had been conscious, he probably would have described it as something like a ‘fiery death spiral.’ Or some equivalent. Pyrrha was really glad he was unconscious as she pulled him from the smoking wreck that was his Lightning. If only so that she wouldn’t have to hear him tell her what an idiot she was. She had flown them into an ambush without even thinking, and the best she could do was to crash them both in a hangar that was, to put it lightly, overflowing with sentient walls of meat and anger that were wider than she was tall.

She was really glad no one was around to see her embarrassment. Well. No one except for the orks. Who were suddenly _very_ interested in the two humans who had so politely delivered themselves directly into their trap. Or they would be, if they weren’t so preoccupied with the _other_ two humans who also had the manners to deliver themselves to the fight. Across the hangar Pyrrha could see two other girls going at a mob of orks hammer and tongs. She silently wished them well as she carried Jaune over to a secluded corner. As soon as she had him tucked away behind a pile of disused crates, she turned to regard the situation before her.

The hangar had quite recently been full of orkish fighters, as the many holes in Jaune’s lightning could attest. There were signs of their rapid exit everywhere; oil stains, discarded fuel lines still leaking promethium onto the deck, wayward tools and crates full of ammunition that the orks presumably couldn’t cram into their fighters, but most of all there were corpses of orks. At the opposite end of the hangar she could see a mob of orks trying, and failing, to take down a pair of girls. One of the girls was throwing up ice walls and forcing the orks to attack piecemeal wall the other cut them to ribbons with a speed Pyrrha had seen few humans match. The ice girl must have been the Schnee, but Pyrrha didn’t recognize the other. Not that it really mattered. They were killing orks, but not fast enough. They needed her help.

Pyrrha charged across the hangar, careful to avoid the oil and leaking fuel. Where did the orks even get oil from anyway? It was better not to think about it. Pyrrha zeroed in on the nearest ork and leapt to strike, only for her spear to be intercepted midair by an axe blade the size of her torso.

Instinct and muscle memory took over as she brought up her shield and used the momentum of the ork’s swing to propel herself beyond its reach. She looked down and met the glaring red eyes of an ork with pure black skin.

That probably wasn’t a good sign.

/-/

Jaune opened his eyes and watched as Pyrrha was thrown across the hangar. She had barely hit the ground before she was up and charging an ork of truly monstrous proportions. Jaune stood hesitantly, bracing himself against a nearby crate, and watched her face down a living nightmare without a hint of fear.

No amount of training or instructional videos could have prepared him for the sheer visceral terror that ripped through him as he watched the Black Ork bat his friend around like a cat with a ball of yarn. Jaune instinctively reached for the comfort of has lasgun. It was a solid weight in his hands, but he doubted it was going to do much more than piss that massive ork off. He was going to have to come up with a better plan. Ideally one that didn’t end with him suicidally charging the biological equivalent of a Leman Russ. He’d leave that sort of thing to his insane friends. And while they did that, he’d figure out a way to pull all their asses out of the fire.

Beyond Pyrrha he could see Ruby and Weiss fighting a rapidly losing battle against a tide of orks. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. Everyone here had clearly left their sanity behind at the _Beacon_ ’s baggage claim. If any of them had even a modicum of sense they would have run from all of the nonsense as fast as they could. Which was exactly what Jaune planned to do.

Now he wasn’t planning on leaving them to die. He was just very aware that in this particular situation he and his lasgun were worse than useless. He needed to find some way to level the playing field. Ideally by finding more people with guns. If there was one solution his training had drilled into him it was, ‘If gun doesn’t work, use more gun.’

Jaune quietly slipped through a nearby door and hoped that he could come up with a solution to this mess before everybody died.

Alright. There were no orks in this hallway, which meant it was time to take stock of his resources and put Operation: Out of the Frying Pan into effect. He had his lasgun, his stupid identifier helmet, and a sheaf of papers that he had tucked behind his breastplate.

Not an auspicious start.

The papers were probably useful. They had schematics and maps and things. Jaune ran a practiced eye over the schematics and quickly realized that he had no idea how to read them. Alright, no fancy inquisitor holovid stuff. Who needed maps anyway? All he had to do was find more gun. Jaune quickly discarded the useless schematics and started sprinting down the hallway. Time was of the essence.

Any other students would probably be at the objective the schematics outlined, so finding them was out unless he got stupidly lucky. And judging by his track record so far that was unlikely. Which meant he had to find something else. A vox would be good. If he could find a vox he could call for reinforcements. That was the textbook way of finding more gun. And he was a student now, so it made sense that he would do stuff by the book. Or something.

 _Frak I have no idea what I’m doing_.

That wasn’t an unusual thought for Jaune, but right now people depended on him figuring it all out really frakking fast. He turned left and started sprinting down another hallway. Why didn’t the station have maps? Who designed this place? It was just endless circular white corridors with unmarked doors. What purpose did that serve? How was anyone supposed to get anywhere? As he ran Jaune unilaterally decided that anyone who had anything to do with void architecture was an idiot and everything would make so much more sense if they had just asked a regular person what they would need if _they_ were frantically running through corridors trying to find a way to summon an army to defeat a ravenous tide of green aliens.

That wasn’t even an unreasonable request given the nature of things.

No signs and no maps. This wasn’t going well.

Okay. Think. He needed a vox. If none of the doors were labeled, then he had to find the bridge. The bridge was guaranteed to have a powerful vox. And, traditionally, bridges were up. Thankfully the elevators were in a place that made sense., although they didn’t have gravity, which was weird. And they were filled with a bunch of crap, which was annoying. The combination of these made his ascent far slower than he would have liked. Every single time he bumped into some floating piece of junk or careened off of the elevator shaft he was reminded that his friends were busy facing down a horde of monsters that would send any normal human running in terror. These thoughts lent him speed and urgency as he crashed on to the bridge.

It was completely abandoned. No orks, no students, no nothing. In fact, it looked like nothing living had been up here in months. None of that really mattered to Jaune at the moment. He really hadn’t expected to find any help, and he was pretty sure all of the orks were presently distracted by his insanely strong friends. Who were teenage girls.

The world made no throne-damned sense anymore.

The vox station was easy enough to find. Now the key was to get people to listen to him. Jaune fished his packet of papers out from behind his breastplate and checked the list of frequencies. There. That frequency was labeled ‘emergency.’ That would probably get someone’s attention. Now all he needed was to not sound like a desperate student who was panicking because he was in over his head. Which he was but no one else needed to know that. A good inquisitorial title. Lord-something. Hmm. Lord-Overseer? That sounded pretty good.

/-/

Ruby tripped as the station shook. The ork in front of her died with her scythe in its guts instead of the clean decapitation she had been aiming for. The fighting lulled as everyone capable of higher thought pondered the nature of earthquakes on a space station. Predictably, Weiss was the first one to figure out was going on.

“We’re under fire.” She said as the station shook again. The orkish tide started to recede as the Warboss shouted orders. 

“They are going to tear the station apart.” Weiss said in a voice that was far too calm for the words she had just said.

Ruby, by contrast, was pretty sure she was the appropriate amount of freaked out.

“They’re _what!?_ ”

“The Imperial Fleet is firing on us.” She said as she regarded the backs of the fleeing orks. “It seems this station has been deemed a greater risk than an asset.”

“Yeah I _get_ that!” Ruby shouted over the sound of explosions. “But _why_!”

“I do not know, but we should really be leaving.” Weiss said as Pyrrha jogged over.

“Has anyone seen Jaune?” she asked.

“No? Who are you? Is Jaune here? Did you come with Jaune?” Ruby asked.

“I’m Pyrrha-”

“Is now really the time for introductions?” Weiss cut in, reminding them all of the very real timer that their lives were on. “We can save that for when we’ve gotten off the station.”

“Right.” Ruby said. “How are we going to do that?”

Both Pyrrha and Ruby looked expectantly at Weiss. Weiss froze under their stares. Ruby snickered at her observation. Yang would be proud. But puns aside, Ruby realized quickly that Weiss wasn’t really good at making decisions under pressure.

“Well if Jaune came in with Pyrrha then they won’t be able to fly out on their own.” She said as another volley wracked the stations superstructure. They were becoming more frequent. Ruby doubted they had much time left. But listing things they couldn’t do was going to get her closer to something that they could do.

“Maybe they could ride on the wings of our ships?” She suggested. It was better than nothing. And they had to get moving quickly if they wanted to make it all the way back up through the living quarters before the entire station was destroyed.

“Oh, and we have to find Jaune. Does anyone have any other ideas?” The other two girls didn’t seem to have much to say, so Ruby lead the way.

They found Jaune at the elevators. Or at least Ruby was pretty sure it was Jaune. Who else would be wearing olive drab body armor over a black voidsuit? Though Ruby couldn’t really judge, she had put her cape on over her own suit. It was all about style. Something he clearly understood.

By the time they reached the station’s living quarters the station had completely depressurized and the imperial bombardment had reached apocalyptic levels of fury. Thankfully both Weiss and Ruby’s fighters were still intact. Pyrrha decided to ride on Weiss’s wings, so Jaune got to ride with Ruby.

She hoped he liked going fast.

/-/

Mercury stood stiffly before the desk of one of the most feared and powerful men in the sector. Ozpin hadn’t looked up from the papers on his desk since Mercury had stepped into his office. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

In retrospect it had been a terrible idea to blow up an Imperial station that was apparently loaded with kids. He might have gone a little overboard. Just a little. Mercury really hoped Ozpin just executed him on the spot. It would be a far kinder fate than whatever Cinder would have planned for him when she found out that he had blown his cover so disastrously.

In front of him the old man gently set down the report he was reading and turned his gaze up toward Mercury.

“Commander Black.” He said. “Headmaster Lionheart tells me that you have a long record of exemplary service as both a student and an officer.”

Mercury silently promised to buy Watts a shot for so _thoroughly_ breaking Mistral’s headmaster.

“Yes, sir.”

“However. You opened fire on a vital Imperial listening post that was critical to the defense of Vale and her colonies.” Ozpin’s stare pinned him in place.

Gulp.

“Through your actions, you doomed nearly forty inquisitorial candidates to their death and very nearly derailed the entire offensive.”

Good, if he hadn’t been caught. But also, bad. Very bad.

“There are many in your position who would have balked. There are many in you position who would have sought to find another solution, to save the lives of the innocents aboard or to preserve vital infrastructure. So, tell me Mr. Black. Why did you feel it both necessary and within your authority to take the actions that you did?”

Uh.

“There was a confirmed Black Ork aboard the station Lord-Inquisitor.” Mercury said easily. The best lies were woven from the truth after all. “I could not allow for its survival. Remnant could ill afford another Grimmfist.” Hell yeah. He’d said, ‘ill afford.’ That’s how you knew he was dealing in serious business.

“Indeed.” Ozpin said. “From the reports it seems that you made your decision the moment you received this information from one ‘Lord-Overseer Arc.’ Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir” Mercury said. He was warming up now. The more Ozpin let him talk the more layers of honor and patriotism he could throw between himself and his blatant disregard for military assets “There can be no hesitation in battle. Especially when the entire sector hangs in the balance.”

Ozpin nodded and leaned back in his chair.

“If there had been more officers like you at Mountain Glenn, I believe that we could have avoided the catastrophic loss of life that was Grimmfist.” Ozpin glanced at his report again. “It says here that your warp drive was critically damaged by an orkish boarding party, and the Mechanicus is projecting several months for the repairs to be complete.”

Mercury nodded. More like it had been destroyed by explosives that he had put there. But Cinder’s whole plan had been to blame it on the orks. So that worked out.

“With that being the case.” Ozpin said. “Due to your exemplary performance and willingness to make difficult decision in the heat of battle, I would like to offer you a position as a professor here aboard the _Beacon_ while your ship undergoes its repairs.”

What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw Yeah. It's time for Professor Mercury. Surely allowing Mercury of all people to shape the minds of the youth will have no unforseen consequences. Good job Ozpin, you sure know how to pick your friends.
> 
> Also, Emerald is a Callidus assassin. I just couldn't figure out a way to work that into the chapter without 3 pages of exposition on what a Callidus actually is, so I just went with 'shapeshifter.'
> 
> Also
> 
> Comments are the fuel which feeds the forge of creativity. Just sayin.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of our more savvy reader's probably saw this coming from a mile away. Which is fine. I really want to deal with Summer's death/disappearance (Did they ever find her body in the canon?) because I haven't really seen any stories that have done so.
> 
> This is an in progress work with 9 chapters written so far, all of which have been posted on FanFiction. To see the story with its original author's notes and formatting check it out there. I will update the story here on Ao3 whenever I update it on Fanfiction. So for you, dear reader, the author's notes on the next 8 chapters are going to sparse. I am also combining certain chapters into mega-chapters because I think they flow a little better like that.
> 
> I *try* to update every Sunday. This is a deadline that I often miss.


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